Dragon Fire: The Hand of Thoth
by WhereTheWickerEnds
Summary: Fog was both the weather and their thoughts in Seheron. His people breathed it from birth, harnessed it in age, and twisted it in the hearts of their enemies in death. He expected to know no different. But when someone close to him destroys what stability and safe haven his people have, he must make the choice. Search for his Dragon Fire or let others burn in another's flame.
1. Chapter 1

**A**

 _9:05 dragon_

 _28_ _th_ _day of Solis_

Eastern clans had been overrun in the last five years by the Qunari. A constant tug of war between Tevinter and them, the gray horned giants, there was little else on the minds of the people who sat in-between, _his_ people, than this threat. The threat was never the slaughter or even the torture, although both had been whispered in the ears of children as warnings, but the machinations behind the Qunari—to convert all and kill those who oppose. The weaker minded or the lost found solace in their Qun with their guidelines and strict regulations of what living actually meant. To Qunari, it meant fulfilling a purpose as another cog in the world's machine. To Tevinter, those who fought the Qunari simply because they could, it meant everlasting glory, it meant immortality.

Elves, on the other hand, were now nomadic by nature and maturity was a reward won through trials. Life for elves was the euphoria of reaching maturity and experiencing its wonders. Before humans, Qunari, and Tevinter, his people were everything these cowardly spines endeavored to be—immortal and ever important to the continuation of Thedas. Now they were split and ripped apart into duller but more complex versions of their former shades. How could you experience life if you knew you could do it all? There was no fear and no adrenaline. His ancestors were nothing like their descendants.

Of them, the elvhen, there were the Dalish. They alone have a custom where their hunters gain their title through their first kill and tradesmen through their first successful craft. City elves—elves bound to subservience but not technically slaves—through marriage. His people on Seheron won it through laying waste to the Qunari and Tevinters.

He had never said his people were a merciful bunch.

 _Plunk_

The arrow embedded itself an inch shy of the target—a red ribbon tied around the thick of the tree. He stood near his father—both wearing the white clay of battle on their skin— standing on highest branches of a tree several feet above ground and a few feet distanced away.

The older elf furrowed his graying black brows and shook his head. "Da'len, you haven't been practicing have you?"

"I practice every day, every hour, and every minute." The younger elf crouched to his knee and pulled the bow back to his side with another arrow on his fingertip. Although younger, he had pale white hair braided tight against his scalp in three twists , swinging in his irritation. "Not that it matters."

"It will when our enemies attack. Will you run then? Apologize and say that you've practiced every day, every hour of every—

"I get it, father."

"Do you remember the story?" His father's voice said with the solidness of stone and the rigidity of a mountain. He couldn't help but falter in his response. The young elf broke focus and his eyes veered on the elder. "Does anyone?"

"Our family line stretches back to the days of Arlathan. ."

The young elf sighed, before turning back to the red ribbon—taunting him; while the stories of Arlathan, the Pantheon, and Elvhen once excited him, they now did little more than poke at a scabbing wound unlikely to ever heal. Tales of fantasy, magic, and adventure that kept him up all night had little strength against the reality. He was never going to find it–whatever it was—here on Seheron surrounded by war. His whole life, an adventurous tale, was a dream.

Sweat piled up on the edge of his fingertips as his heart pounded.

He let the arrow fly without even paying attention to it. His eyes had gone deaf and his ears had blinked for a moment. His parents once told him over a late dinner—his father had been arguing with the Clan Head again for many hours that day—that he was the extra word in a song that had been singing for centuries. They told him he would lead his people to a great place, much like his ancestors, and he would bestow this wisdom to his descendants as his ancestors did for him. And he believed it once. This end they called, "Dragon Fire." where hope would be found and given back to his people.

When the arrow spun in the air and missed the target, he couldn't help but wonder if he was born tone deaf.

"Da'len."

The young elf hissed. "The stories were wrong. The tales, the dreams, the Elvhen, it doesn't exist." He resisted the temptation to break the bow and watch the shattered remains plummet to the ground. His hand clenched and unclenched.

What kind of elf was he that he couldn't shoot a bow?

His father, a hahren, had trained and mastered swordmanship younger than he was now. War sung in his father's blood. His father began to say, like he always did, "Centuries ago—

"And now we hide in the shadows, live in garbage, and have no home of our own." He ended his father's usual tirade about elven strength and honor.

His father's lips quirked. "Home is a state of mind."

"We aren't the Dalish. Our home isn't in an aravel traveling from city to city or even this fenedhis of an island. The humans have nothing but the mind to use us as objects. We have no home." The young elf pulled out another arrow and it rattled in the container leashed to his shoulder, a lone catch running away from his hand.

He sucked in a breath and pulled the bow taut with the arrow sliding into place along his fingertips once again. His eyes narrowed.

"Emma lath! Da'len!"

The thick forests of Seheron had been thinned by fires and the carnage of battles fought. There were large gaps between trees and wide open spaces of broken towers, the shattered remains of their history. It was no doubt far from an equal match for his mother's voice, a timbre sound that flew up the trees to their ears like a winged hum.

His fingers fell slack knowing that it was another day he had not grown and he had not _become._ Become "what" he did not know but the deep-seated notion of his talents and skills hiding underneath his skin was as fleeting a notion as the Qun believing conversion the cure to all world evil—thus committing evil as a necessary skipping stone to that end. It sounded nice in theory. And he was tired of deluding himself.

His father's heavy hand rocked against his shoulder and then he saw his father move from his side to slide down the tree trunk, disappearing through the leaves.

The young elf spit over his shoulder and shot the arrow.

* * *

Wisps of fog flitted around the young elf as he stepped out from the forest into the flatlands. He cupped his hands around his mouth and chirped into the air. The blinding, humid fog dissipated and his village appeared ahead. He ran forward and slid down the hill into where the twenty odd huts, the feast fire pits, and the Clan Head's house sat. The huts were made of twisted tree trunks and leaves. A few of them had glass decorating the doors and the window perches to add variety to the village. Unlike these homes, the Clan Head's house was made of two contortionist trees merged at its side and splitting at their roots milling in the dirt like jumping fish. Villagers walked around its emerald green leaves in their dug in paths watching them curl above them like woven threads. Children ran under the roots and swung themselves off it like a playground. But like most villages, those were on cooler, freer days. With the noise on both sides of the island raising in pitch, there was rarely a time you would catch their villagers doing anything but sewing furs, skinning animals, and wrapping plants prepping for them to be dried. The tension was thick and unspoken.

"I hear someone needs more training." A voice teased behind him.

The young elf tossed a lazy look back at the girl. "No one can be good at everything."

Carin is Inan's, the clan head, daughter. Carin's father had called himself "Inan" as his people's custom was to be called an animal that represented their clan, but the Nazari had no symbol or crest to represent them. His resolution was to simply call himself "leader" in Alamarran-the Avvar language. Their southern neighbors who live in high mountains, the Avvar, are a burly, strong people and many of which share that bright red hair on their heads like Carin and Inan. ".

"Someone isn't very good at anything." She said in a sing-song voice looming over him by a few inches.

 _Damn humans and their height._

He held back a bitter retort. Carin didn't deserve his spite. She wasn't the failure of an ancient legacy. "And this is why people don't like mages."

Carin blew a raspberry.

Most clans in Seheron kept to themselves and there was no judgment on what members joined which clan. Unless their sister clans needed help, they were free to live life as is—well, except for one thing. His people were the remnants of warrior rebels. They fought against Tevinter _and_ the Qunari, refusing both sides.

"Tevinter loves us."

The young elf tossed an incredulous look and opened his mouth to speak only to reel back when Inan clapped a hand on both their shoulders.

"And," the aged, wizened voice of Inan spoke, "They would kill us at the first chance."

"Dad." Surprise colored Carin's cheeks.

"You've got to take the bad with the good, sweetheart." Inan tugged at his reddish-brown beard and grinned before turning to the elf at his side. "And you, young sir, ought to bathe the paint off before dinner. We'll be having it at the house tonight. Don't be late."

The young elf nodded and moved out from the older man's uncomfortably tight hold.

Carin jumped in. "Aren't we having nug chops?"

"Of course, my dear. Your mother is making stew."

Carin looked over her father's shoulder as they walked away down the dug pathway and mouthed, "See you."

The young elf returned the smile.

The showers were on the other side of the village in the opposite direction. He flipped his braid over his shoulder and ran back to the entrance, swiveling through the open area fire pits. The showers were pipes and faucets imported from Tevinter, gears and sprockets from Qunandar but the water came straight from the lower hills of Seheron.

He twisted the faucet and stood under the water, closing his eyes only to feel. . . nothing. He blinked and then squinted up. The switch was turned on and he had never heard of a time that the water didn't work properly.

He crouched to the pipe and pressed his ears against it. He followed it back up the hill listening for the squeak of water pressure. It took him back through the thick fog, toeing close to the ground. His feet silent against the grass. He heard only his own breathing as he flipped underneath the pipes and reached a sharp decline. He still couldn't hear a thing. He leaned closer until his ear was touching the hollow metal when he finally did begin to hear sounds, except that they were voices.

He flattened his body to the ground and crawled closer to the voices until the trees opened into a camp below. Armor squealed against armor clanging in movement as they marched around their tents. Writing nearer to the back end of the camp sat a man writing on parchment at his desk. He figured him to be the leader for the level of shininess on his armor. The opening of his tent hanging wide but still not wide enough for him to see what he was writing.

Loud hooved steps stomped to the right of him, he flattened himself even lower into the grass when a horse flew past right into the camp. The messenger unhooked himself from the horse as the young elf huddled to hear the conversation between the messenger and this dark-haired leader.

"Knight-Captain, the Mad Ox is at it again. He has divided his troop and begun moving shipments to avoid those painted elves."

A humorous voice replied, "And you don't know where the deserter is."

The messenger frowned and then began tugging at his collar. "Well, sir, we tried, but then those Fog Warriors appeared and—

The Knight-Captain raised a placating hand. "No worries. I will handle the rest. Have you heard word of when my brother will arrive?"

"No, sir."

"Good."

The messenger fidgeted uncomfortably before saying, rather slowly, carefully, "Is there a reason why, sir? Should we expect trouble?"

The Knight-Captain gave a very put-upon look on his face and made a heavy sigh. "Funalis begins soon and that means trials for the Hole. One of my very least favorite duties."

"Everyone makes it seem as though watching the chosen are well worth the visit."

"Indeed." The Knight-Captain answered with an annoyed tone. He waved his hand. "Off with you. You have work to do."

"Of course, sir."

The young elf pulled his attention from the camp below and slid around the other side of the pipe. He kept low to the grass until he saw the loose bolt on the pipe. Leaning forward, lower on the decline, he stretched downward. His hand twisted the screw until it couldn't be twisted further. He crawled backwards, pushing back up the decline with another glance at the open tent before getting up entirely.

* * *

Nug chop stew was a delicacy here not because it tasted especially good but for its rarity. Although he himself liked nug chop stew, Carin ate it only to have the chance in the next morning to say, "I had nug chop stew yesterday." To spur the jealousy of the villagers that did not.

He had never even seen a nug but the tradesmen from the southern lands always brought a good weight of meat on hand. Nug for dinner meant the village was doing well for itself. Clean of the white paint, his skin was back to its natural burnished brown. He was a happy median between his mother and father's, who was closer to his own but darker They sat at the long bench table with his family on one side and Inan's on the other. A large bowl of stew sat in the middle of the table as each of them had much smaller bowls and a slice of bread in front of them. His foot knocked against a pointy metal object under the table and it squeaked under foot. Inan, Carin, and Carin's mother giggled as soon as they heard the sound.

"It's one of those Orlesian bath toys." Carin giggled. "They're so aristocratic."

The spoon in his hand stirred in the bowl as he mumbled, "And obnoxious."

The Clan Head's house was full of all kinds of odds and ends from bottles, cork tops, clinking stones, and shriveled up grass, mostly because his wife and daughter were both healers for the village. The mages in their clan were either healers or alchemists and their positions were important enough to allow them leeway in their oddness. Inan lifted up a mug of mead and swallowed quick. "We'll have to send more men to our brothers and sisters in the west. Anyone you recommend?"

"Inan," His father's voice paused to scoop up a chunk of meat and vegetables from the stew, "you know most of our men are out checking out the tradesmen."

"There has to be someone left. Even a few are coming back tonight if I remember," Inan raised a thoughtful hand and continued, "Even that fisher, ah, what was his name again?"

"Halesta."

Inan snapped his fingers. "Exactly!"

"All this movement from the Qunari in the north and the Tevinters in the east making you uneasy, finally? We should plan to hit a few supply camps and record their trade routes." His father answered. His father sipped the stew and then leaned forward, whispering to Inan. "I have an idea, old friend."

Their voices lowered until he could no longer hear their conversation. He turned to his mother and Carin's who also spoke in hushed tones but loud enough for him to hear. He contemplated telling his parents about the Tevinter camp he had seen. They couldn't find their village and they seemed rather focused more on attacking the Qunari than his people.

But, if he did tell them then he would have to fight and embarrass his family. No. He would wait and if the Tevinters showed any signs of getting sword happy then he would tell them.

"I don't trust that Kellis." His mother said. She hadn't touched a bowl of her stew but neither had Carin's mother. Contrary to both their mothers, Carin slurped her bowl like it was going to run away from her if she stopped.

His mother had long thick rivulets of hair that held together like airy sticks of bread. It reminded him of when he was small and she would hug him close as she baked fresh loaves. She would put him down and click her music box, one of the few things she kept from her old home, and she would dance as the dancer in the box would with long flowing steps, her arms lifted in the air, around, then down. She had a long scar cut across her eye down her chin along her arm lightening her otherwise dark brown skin. He always noticed it particularly when she would dance.

His mother had told him that she was raised in a place called Antiva. It hadn't been the Qunari or even the Imperium but these people called the Crows that scarred her. She was lucky that his father's previous clan was traveling by. "It was pure luck you were even born." they said.

He hated it when they said things like that. Always did. It wasn't luck that he was born. It was something that simply _was._

Carin's mother nodded with a deep frown. "I don't either but he's the only tradesmen willing to travel around these parts."

She wore a full-bodied dress, much like Carin, or, perhaps, it was the other way around. He was told it was a thing mages wore—long and inflexible clothing.

"Kellis?" He asked. He turned to both women but no one answered.

Carin, with her mouth full of food, said, "Heb's the gyb bwe geb ball bower ingrebients fromph."

He retorted. "Sorry, I don't speak Tevene."

Carin rolled her eyes. She repeated. "We get our ingredients from him. Like elfroot, spindleweed, and even dragonthorn. He has everything."

"Yes," Carin's mother said distastefully. "He's rather useful."

Carin added carefully. "I put the shipment in for the elfroot but I couldn't carry it all even with the villagers help. He said to come by tonight to pick it up, if I could. He's leaving tomorrow and—"

"Absolutely not!" Her mother said sharply. "You can't even raise your shields yet. We'll just have to find some other way."

"Well—

Carin's mother swung around at Inan's interruption. "Josef, you can't be serious."

His father spoke instead, "Well, Josef and I do have most of our men returning tonight. If anything were to happen—

"Exactly!" Inan said. His heavy hand smacked the table. "And we'll need those elfroots for when the men return anyhow."

"Fine," Carin's mother relented. "But I don't want her going alone."

This time, his mother took a sip of her own mug of mead before stating that he was going to tag along too.

There was no discussion of what he wanted to do—of course.

They stood outside the Clan Head house after dinner as the sun fell below the eastern skyline and it stained the clouds a water-colored blue and purple streak. And the sky, like a blank canvas, turned to black. The stars like riveted holes appeared hovering above them and he wondered if the sky was not one whole layer but three. With three layers each one had a specific purpose, never to be deterred. It was nice to think about.

His mother pulled him aside to the right of the large house nearly hidden out of sight from the others. She pulled a leather notebook out from behind her apron.

"This journal is important to me, important to you. You will need to record the things you learn. One day, as you watch your own children grow, you will record the things that they are yet unable." His mother said.

He shook his head at his mother. "You know that I can't—

"Nothing is impossible," His mother returned and she handed the leather journal to him, "when you know where you've been and where you're going. Tomorrow, I will tell you of our birthright, but, for now, I want you to read our history—the true history."

His fingers graced the journal and felt it to be as rough and jagged as he expected it to be. It wasn't a familiar texture—fuzzy and smooth. "What is it made of?"

"Halla leather and ancient tree bark."

A part of him wished that it wasn't elven. It was too beautiful and too different. Hallas were a rare creature and ancient trees no longer existed. He opened his mouth in curiosity, "There must be things about me in here."

"Things about our family, our lineage. You were a relatively average elfling but there were a few notes here and there."

His mother rarely spoke about her family and his father about his. He knew more about his ancestors of a thousand, even two thousand years ago, then he ever learned of his grandparents or if he had uncles and aunts. He frowned but pulled the journal close to his chest. "I don't know much of anything. I have nothing to add."

His mother put a gentle hand under his chin and smiled. "Da'len, we never know until we do. The pages will fill up faster than you think." She kissed his cheek and shooed him off.

* * *

Scattered among the rumored clout of his people, the People, this journal made those ethereal stories seem rocked in reality. Those few pages they read stated that in all of time and land there was nothing more valuable than the belief that their lives could be better—hope. Yet, he didn't believe it. Three pages that depicted a world wrought in war and destruction long before Tevinter and Qunari were names. Clearly, there had to be an ancestor of his that was a little too drunk, a little too insane, and a little too clever to write so convincingly. Civil war destroyed the elves.

He stared up at the moon, pale and grey, as if growing ill as the night passed. It would be a shared sentiment between. There had to be another explanation. He would ask his mother the next time they spoke.

* * *

The night's creatures whistled and clicked in the trees, the bushes, and the ground around them. The forest paths winded and there were few actual roads to follow. It would be at least a few hours travel and they would not make it back to the village until morning. But in the dead of night, there was no use in dressing in white paint. They fought in groups and one sole fighter wasn't much of a fight at all. His bow felt stiff against his shoulder blades. It shifted uncomfortably digging into his bone.

"You _do_ know how to shield, right?"

Carin huffed.

"I'm serious." He repeated. He wasn't sure if it was the air or the fact that he hadn't ever ventured out the village with the moon and not the sun in the sky. His instincts were itching him. The sound of branches cracking underfoot didn't sound the way they did during the day.

"Of course I do. Mother was just kidding." She retorted. "It's not like the wards where I need a key to open it or ingredients for a potion. It's easy."

He tossed a look of disbelief. He added, "Healing potions?"

Carin cursed, "Scitte, really? I've been training for years."

"Really." He paused. "Have you ever fought before?"

"Have you ever fought before?"

"I asked you first."

"Well, I also know how your bow training went and—

"And, what?"

"You know the answer. Don't play dumb."

He stopped and looked at Carin. He repeated. "Seriously, what? You spoke to my parents."

"More like what they said to mine." Carin sighed and lifted a hand to her forehead . "Look, maybe hunting isn't the thing for you."

He felt as if someone had slapped him in the face. The indent and bruise now swelling on his cheeks. "I'm an elf."

"And I'm a human. It doesn't mean I want to live in a circle or in mountains with goats." Carin shivered.

"A circle?"

"It's not worth explaining, just know that they suck."

"Unlike you, I don't have the choice." He shot back. She patronized him as if he was to blame for his bowmanship as if he had no reason _not_ to be good; like a mage born with magic an elf was born with the skills to hunt. And a part of him agreed with her, perhaps that was made this so infuriating. She complained about her choices when his stood between living in packed, dirty cities or traveling the land without a home, a country to go to. If her sense of self stood in her talents, she was lucky. His only relied on his survival. On choices that weren't much of a choice at all, but admitting that would be too much of a weakness. "An elf that can't shoot a bow or hunt is like an elf without ears."

"You'd just be a short human then, that's not so bad."

"But I wouldn't _be_ human—that's the point."

"The point is—

The heavy sound of footsteps and rustling stomped. He motioned a quick hushing motion and they both crouched to the ground.

A deep, nearly growling voice spoke. Through the shrouded leaves, they could see two Qunari bare-chested with the leggings of their warriors and weapons on their back. They stood at a height taller than Carin. "Have you seen anyone?"

"No," said an equally, perhaps slightly less growling voice, "They're looking for the Saarebas. We will choke them at the midpoint."

"One less Tevinter." The first voice added.

The footsteps stomped off until they went quieter and quieter into the night. Carin and him didn't start to move until the footsteps fell to silence. Carin breathed. "Maybe we should turn back."

He could hear the mirrored anxiety and fear he felt finding its way through his own body in her voice. He wanted to go back. Yet. . . he shook his head. "We can't. The others should meet us on the way."

"And if they don't?"

He didn't want to think about what would happen if half of their strongest were wiped out or even captured. They would have to merge with another clan just to keep safe and things were already too unbalanced as it was. "We have to know. They don't where we are or what we'll see. If we find out what's going on, then we can tell everyone back home."

"It's only a good idea if we don't get caught."

Yeah, he was fully aware of that.

It was a shit plan, but it was going to keep their village safer if not safe.


	2. Chapter 2

_29_ _th_ _day of Solis_

He was told a nightmare for a story the first time he learned about the Qunari. These large people with horns on their head that killed or converted every person they found. But he had been called "beast" before too. He had been called "creature". He always wondered if the similarities stopped there.

Carin and him sat in the bushes watching the crackling fire of Kellis' pit. With a ball of pressure, and their dinner spinning at the bottom of his stomach, he tilted to the side of the fire and spewed sick onto the grass. Carin covered her nose with the collar of her mage dress.

In Kellis' camp was the strewn dead bodies of their comrades, all nine of them were dead.

"Shit. Fuck. Shit." Carin paced the edges of the camp and mumbled. She pulled her hands out from her sleeves and nervous sparks snapped from her fingers. "This is bad. We have to warn everyone."

"Calm down." He hissed. He leaned forward, moving the weight on one of his legs to the other as if he wasn't fidgeting but moving rather strangely, like a puppet. "This may not have been the Qunari."

"What?" Carin swiveled to him. "Look at them! Their chests are ripped out."

"Yeah, but look closer at the bodies." He gestured closer to the open wound of their chest. He dabbed a hand and the twisting sound of shifting flesh sounded. Carin immediately turned on her side and copied his action of earlier, getting sick all over the grass. He pulled his hand back and his fingers were dry. "Their blood is missing. It's like someone drained them of it."

"Maybe they eat blood."

"I don't think so."

"You don't know. You don't know anything." Carin hunched over in the grass paused only to get sick again. "We have to leave. I can't take this smell."

"Check the area around here. I'm going to see if there's anything that can tell us what happened."

"Fine," She answered but stood back up unsteadily.

He watched her wobble outside the camp until her shadow blended into the darkness. He whispered lowly, "Don't go too far!"

She didn't reply but he was sure she heard him. He had wanted her to leave anyway. Something in the air was disconcerting. He had never felt like this like eyes were watching him or as if there was something in the air hovering that he couldn't see. It was like someone bottled fear into the air and left an imprint of it behind. It was making his skin itch even worse than before.

He turned back to the bodies of their fighters. Four of them were still in their beddings. Three of them were in random spots with blood drippings on the grass near them. One was twisted on its side—like they had been fighting something or someone. But the last one—

He twisted around and recounted. No. He had been right. Someone was missing. He wanted to feel hopeful that one of them had survived, but something wasn't right about this. Half of them had been killed in their sleep and a few of them had died fighting but not as seriously as they would if someone larger than them had attacked.

Someone they trusted had killed them.

He brushed through a loose stray curl as if that could silence his rampant thoughts. There was only two possibilities. Kellis betrayed them or one of their own had turned on the clan. Neither of those events sounded very good. He heaved a heavy sigh and scavenged around the camp for any weapons, potions, and anything else that could help them. He shoved his jittering hands to be held behind his back. He couldn't let Carin see him like this.

They had to be strong.

He pushed through the thick foliage around the camp and called as both loudly and lowly as he could. "Carin, where are you?"

"Over here." She hissed.

He followed her voice to find it in a tree above him and Carin sitting in the branches of a tree. She gestured above herself to the higher branches. He climbed on the sides of the thick bark, hooking his hands until he reached the higher branches.

"Tell me what you see." She said from below him.

He nodded and inked ever closer to the edge of the branch until he could see the lights of lanterns, hundreds and thousands of lanterns. His hold went slack.

There was an army out there.

"What do you see?" She called up.

He didn't reply. He swallowed harshly and then opened his mouth but no words came out.

She repeated. "What is going on out there?"

"They're going to fight."

"What?" She hissed. "I don't understand. Who is going to fight?"

"The Qunari and the Imperium. There's an army, and—

"Pull me up! Now!"

He hung his body down over the branch and dropped his hand for her to catch. He pulled her up and she leaned forward towards the thousands of lanterns lit up as the groups of Qunari huddled together in the forest miles ahead.

"Carin," He said carefully, buzzing burring in the background of his mind like static. "We can't fight an army."

"That's obvious stupid. We have to tell everyone."

"We won't get there in time."

Carin huffed. "This place has always been a warzone. This isn't anything new."

"But—" He realized he hadn't told her of what he had found out at the camp. But the thought. . . no. Carin was right. They had to go back to the camp. He shook his head. "You're right. Let's go back."

She tossed him a strange look and then slowly crawled the branch to the next nearest branch.

He could see the flickers of flames waver in the distance and, although he couldn't hear the sounds of their feet, he could pretend to hear the loud stomping against the ground. The heavy footsteps of armor slamming into the ground and marking their terrain as finally being overrun.

The war had finally reached them. Was there nowhere safe in Seheron now?

He swung below the branch and let go.

* * *

It took them far too long to reach the camp-nearly a day and a half. The main army splintered off to their luck but a small group still marched on towards their camp.

"The wards!"

Carin ran forward through the hill near the village entrance. The fog, their only protection from the outside, was gone. They slid down the hill and bulleted forward into the village only to meet with utter silence. Carin breathed heavily, hunched on her knees panting. When she gathered her bearings, she hissed, "Look around, see if you can find anyone." She ran forward towards the Clan Head house, leaving him to stare at the vacant inner village centre.

His feet rubbed against the grass and he could hear the sounds of the forest for the first time within the village. The snap of branches and the chattering of insects in the air. The buzz of humidity. He had always wondered how the village always stayed cool during Wintersend.

He reached his parent's hut and with sweaty palms opened the door. It creaked open in the silence. But as was with the rest of the village, no one was to be found. He checked the foyer where his mother's shrine of Falon'din and Sylaise sat on the table with paintings on the wall of the Great Hunt of Andruil. His hand brushed against the textured paint, the cold wood.

How was it still so cold? Or perhaps that was him and not the wood at all.

Salted fish sat on the racks in the kitchen as chunks of ice melted in the carrier below it. He tilted his head in confusion. There were spells placed on the carrier to keep the ice cold. Someone had removed them. He reached into his hip pocket and pulled out a dagger. He slowly creeped around, through the kitchen into the main area where a miniature fire pit sat. His mother had left books and pens lying around, while his father had left maps scattered on the table nearby. The untidy mess was an unwelcome sight.

His parents never left a room like this. The sharp sense of knowing something had gone very wrong tickled in the back of his mind. There was no blood. No fight. There was little else to be happy about.

The wood flooring creaked down the hall and he measured his steps as he pressed his back against the wall following the creaking sounds. He pushed passed his parents' locked door and his own closed door to the storage closet directly at the end of the hall. He heard someone rifling through the storage and speak, "Where is it? It has to be here. I know it. Kaffas!". A human stood in front of the closet tossing things out of it. Heavy and hollowed thin metal objects hit the ground, rolling out into the hall and knocking into his feet when a globe flew out smacking into his lower knee. The rustling froze.

Kellis' head peeked out from the closet and he wasn't sure what possessed him to stride forward, striking the dagger close against Kellis' throat.

Kellis wasn't a short man but those frilly-collared tunics he always wore made yanking him down so much easier. He slammed Kellis' head into the wall next to the closet and scowled.

"Wait! Wait! I swear, I'm totally innocent." Kellis said with hands raised up in surrender. "I swear it."

His lips curled into a feral twist. "Eight of our warriors were slaughtered in your camp."

"Ah," Kellis paused. "That is true, but—"

Carin's voice called from outside. "Did you find something?"

He yanked Kellis out the house, dragging him violently until kicking him to the dirt floor of the front of his home. Carin paced back and forth. He watched her and wondered if she was going to be able to handle much more of this. He kicked the back of Kellis' knees and raised the dagger against his throat again. "Where is everyone?"

His throat jumped and graced the dagger's edge. Kellis said, while licking his drying lips, "Well, okay, that I can't answer."

He hissed. "What were you doing in my home?"

Kellis tilted his head, opened his mouth, and then shook his head. "Well, I know, for sure, that I can't answer that."

Carin breathed heavily. She pressed her fingers against her nose bridge. "What can you tell us?"

Kellis opened his mouth and then closed it. He opened his mouth again and then made a throaty, buzzing sound before closing his mouth again. He opened his mouth again but this time the young elf pressed the blade tight against his throat.

"Wait, listen, wait." Kellis squeezed out as his dagger drew tighter. "Lyrium. I was here for lyrium."

"Lyrium?"

Carin nodded. "Lyrium. Mages use it."

"Are you a mage?" He asked Kellis.

Kellis squinted his eyes and made that strange sound again. "Yes and no?"

Carin rolled her eyes. She questioned, pressing, "How can you be a mage and not a mage?"

"There is people with weaker magic who are sensitive to it, the fade that is, that can do _things._ I come from a long line of mages, you know." Kellis added. He cleared his throat when all Carin did was raise a brow. "Nevermind, guess I'm not home, now, am I?"

"No. No you're not." The elf was starting to feel twitchy. He didn't like this. "Tell us where they took everyone."

Kellis looked at the young elf and then at Carin.

Carin slapped a hand against her forehead and groaned. "I don't think he's going to be able to help us."

The blade pulled away from Kellis' throat. "What? Why not?"

Carin said pointedly, "Look, lyrium does weird things to people. I think he's sick from it."

"If it means anything," Kellis interjected with a nervous tone, "I also need some shoes."

Carin took a look at the man's bare feet when Kellis wiggled his toes. The young elf bit his tongue. "Fine, we'll find some shoes or boots to give him."

"Thank you. Thank you so much. You're both so kind, too kind to be Fog Warriors, that's for sure." Kellis sighed in relief.

"Fog Warriors?"

It was the first time he had ever heard the term when Kellis said it. But he would hear it many, many more times after.

Kellis drew a glance at the young elf. "You. Elves, generally speaking, that paint themselves white and, well, fight from the fog. Those fog things you guys do is impossible to copy. Scary stuff."

"But," the elf scrunched up his nose. "It's magic."

"Well, whatever it is, it's not magic Tevinter or even the Ox-man can mirror. Very admirable, might I add."

 _Not magic. . . they can mirror._ It was like a rush of icy water churned into his chest.

Kellis tilted his head towards the elf, watching his hands clench and unclench. "You know, I'm not sick with Lyrium. A mage would know that."

"If you say one more thing, I'll cut out your tongue." The elf gritted his teeth at Kellis.

Kellis huffed but said no more.

Carin, as if distracted, said, "What was that?"

Kellis gave a perusing glance at the elf and then turned away, whistling as he stared up at the sky.

"Nothing." was all he said.

* * *

He raised his eyes and watched Carin as she became a different figure—a creature that looked more malformed than a Qunari ever could.

Carin said, slowly, "Well, we'll still have to do something with Kellis."

"Can you get his boots first? I think Halesta is about his size."

Carin looked over her shoulder and then back at her "friend". "That's almost on the other side of the village. He doesn't _really_ need it."

Kellis added, "I beg to differ."

The young elf shrugged. "No one is going to come back here. They got what they wanted."

"Of course," Carin blinked. "I'll be right back."

She took a look over her shoulder and he smiled. She returned the smile before disappearing down the dug path.

His smile fell from his face and he dropped to Kellis' level. "What do they want?" He pulled the dagger against Kellis' throat just enough to create a line of red.

Kellis swallowed harshly. "They're here for the Hand of Thoth—the Tevinters."

"And the Qunari?"

"To kill us? Look," Kellis said when the dagger tightened against his throat again, "The Qunari really don't like us. We've been fighting for, what, two and a half centuries. I swear to you that, that's why."

The young elf stood up and outstretched his hand. "What does it do? This Hand of Thoth. Some kind of magical bomb?"

"What? No, it's nothing like the Gaatlok. We're talking magical additions to mages _and_ non-mages. Every single person will be able to do the littlest of magic. A pure, uncorrupted piece of the Fade."

He rolled his eyes at Kellis' excited voice. Blandly, he said, "Sounds great."

Kellis continued, "The only issue is that no one knows what it looks like. We don't even know if it's an object or a spell. We might be looking for a book for all we know." He stood up and dusted his pants.

"Kellis, keep this between us."

"What?" Kellis said, while still dusting his clothing. "Kaffas, I got swamp on my pants."

"I mean, Carin doesn't need to stress about this, got it?" He quirked a brow and Kellis nodded slowly.

"Sure, whatever rocks your boat." Kellis rolled his shoulders and stretched his arms. "For a kid, you have a crazy punch, you know that?"

"I didn't even hit you."

"Huh?" Kellis shook his head. "Felt like you did. It felt like a touch of electricity. You're sure you don't do magic?"

He ignored Kellis and watched as Carin made her way back to them with thick brown boots in hand.

Kellis gave a disgusted look and held the boots by the tip of his fingers. "Is there—?"

"Take the boots, Kellis." He warned the man.

"Fine. I'm putting them on, see?"

"You can go."

Kellis shot him a look. He took a peek at Carin and then back at the elf. Carin nodded.

"Well, I would say this was fun, but, then I would be lying. Be safe, kids." Kellis said over his shoulder as he walked back into the forest.

"I'm surprised you let him go." Carin said. Her face dropped into a sad smile.

He pressed. "Why?"

"It's just—sometimes, I really wish you were a mage. Then you'd understand." She sighed.

"Yeah," He said, knowing that every fiber in his being wanted to scream, 'No. No, I wouldn't because I would never betray my family, my friends, for what?', "Maybe I would but Tevinter doesn't equal mage. Mage doesn't equal Tevinter."

"You're so naïve, you know that?"

He sniffed. "Look, I know where we have to go next, follow me."

Carin frowned. "I don't think we should leave. We can't do anything by ourselves."

"I think we can. If you want to stay here, fine, but I'm going to find my parents. Don't you want to find yours?" He pressed again. He checked her eyes for a reaction. Her stance. Her breathing.

"Of course, how could you say that?" Carin said, annoyed all of a sudden. She breezed past him.

His eyes followed her walk up the hill. "Good."

Carin stilled.

For a second, he wondered if she knew that he knew. "What?"

"Which way are we going?"

He swallowed a laugh and a well of sickness sat in his stomach. His chest twisted when he grinned. "Keep going straight. I'll tell you when to turn."


	3. Chapter 3

"You're acting strange." Carin said as he counted the pipes and retraced his steps of the previous day. She shuffled forward, scrutinizing his face.

He replied offhandedly, feeling his heart thump harder, faster in his chest. "Oh?"

"You're hiding something." Carin said humorously. "I can handle bad news, you know."

Crouched in the same spot as before, he saw that there were far less soldiers in the camp, and, in fact, there weren't any soldiers he could actually see. He expected most of the forces were pulled to the mass exodus of Qunari soldiers they saw earlier.

They climbed down using the pipes and reached the main tent where he _knew_ the leader was. As soon as he took one step forward, though, he froze. His whole body was stuck in place. He couldn't even move his fingers, his tongue, his lips. Nothing except for his eyes. The main tent flap flipped open and the one he remembered as the "Knight-Captain" walked out with two soldiers trailing behind. The soldiers, unlike earlier, were dressed in heavy metal armor and pointy helmets.

"It's a paralysis trap." Carin hissed before even her neck couldn't be moved. Only their eyes and their lips, albeit stiff, were easy enough to move.

"So, are you the little deepstalkers crawling around and getting into trouble?" The Knight-Captain said with a wide smile on his laugh. He barked out a laugh. "I guess you can't answer me like that now can you? Release the wards."

"Are you sure, sir?"

The Knight-Captain gave another piercing look. The humor gone from his face. The soldier threw out his hand and Carin and the young elf fell to the ground. The Knight-Captain lifted the boy up by the chin and the elf fought against the hold but the older man was much stronger than him.

The Knight-Captain turned the boy's face from side to side. "What kind of elf paints his hair but not his skin?"

"The kind of elf that doesn't paint his hair at all." The elf spit back.

"Ah." Was all the Knight-Captain said before carefully dropping the elf back to the ground. He wiped the spit off his armor. The elf swiveled around now that they both were out from the ward.

Carin hissed in his ear and grabbed at his shoulder. "Stop antagonizing him." The two soldiers lifted up the tent flap, tying it open and the Knight-Captain sat at the table he had sat the first day the elf had seen him.

He clenched his hands into the dirt as the Knight-Captain looked down at them. "Where are my parents?"

The Knight-Captain's lips curled. "Tell me, elf, how would I know that?"

"My name isn't elf. It's—

He looked up at the moon still heavy in the sky and fell back into the Knight-Captain's overbearing gaze. He finished, "My name is Evunial. Evune for short."

"And you may call me Davan. No need for the Knight-Captain." The man added.

Evune swallowed harshly. "Can you help us then?"

"You are from the Nazari clan, I believe?"

Evune nodded.

"I know exactly what happened to your friends and family." Davan leaned forward, his bulky armor and shoulderplate spikes making a small sound in the movement. "They were interrupted by a Qunari scouting group. It seems our information was somehow compromised."

"Shit." Carin said behind him.

"I'm sorry to say that very few of your villagers made it out alive. Perhaps if the wards had stayed things would be a different story, but—"

"Oh god." Carin grappled forward, knocking Evunial to the side. "Did you find what you were looking for, at least? Please, my family, they were promised—

"Ah, you must be the Clan Head's daughter, the healer, correct?" Davan said drolly. He scratched his nose and pulled out a handful of letters from one of his drawers. His sword at his side clanked against the table post. "I have your father and mother's letters here. They really wanted you to shine in Tevinter, didn't they?"

"Yes, Knight-Captain, I've lived here all my life and all I've ever wanted is to leave. To _be_ something. Away from this place." Carin bowed to the ground and begged. "If there's a way I can prove it, I'll do anything."

The Knight-Captain stood up and walked around the table. He leaned forward on one knee. "The name is Carin, correct?"

"Yes, sir."

"Such a young thing."

Carin replied, she lowered her head back to the dirt before raising it up again, "I apologize for being forward but you don't look too much older than me and you've done well for yourself."

The soldiers behind the Knight-Captain gave each other looks as the Knight-Captain laughed again, a thicker, throatier laugh. His humor had once again left him.

"Oh, you can accredit that to my family name in part." Davan paused and then shook his head mournfully. "But, you are right. Old enough to know better."

Evune could see the Knight-Captain's hand twitch at his side. He lunged forward to stop the Knight-Captain but it was too late. The Knight-Captain with hands quicker than Evune's muddled mind could follow, Davan pulled out the blade and shoved it through Carin's chest.

Blood pooled in Carin's mouth and spilled from her lips, Evune had caught only her left arm and a splash of her blood hit his skin. In her last seconds, her garbled voice spoke, "His name. . . he lied. . ."

"A traitor, even in the end," The Knight-Captain wrenched the sword out from her chest and splattered the blood on the dirt as he shook it clean. He slid the blade into his scabbard and stared right back into Evune's hateful glare. "A simple deserter reconnaissance mission turned into a search for a strengthened blood mage. You can thank your friend here for that."

"She didn't know. She only wanted freedom." The words rang false even as he spoke them.

The Knight-Captain laughed. "She sacrificed your villagers for a _chance_. No matter how you spin it. She's not worth the effort. Neither is your leadership. Your clan had no hopes of survival."

"Your people told the elves those same words a thousand years ago. How well is that doing for you?" Evune seethed.

The Knight-Captain tilted his head as if in agreement. "Ah yes, and how well is your bare to the teeth survival working. Living is a rather positive concept. Is your life worth living?"

Evune glared. "These blood mages, they drain a person's blood."

"Yes, hence the name _blood_ mage." The Knight-Captain said. He crossed his arms. "Is there something you know?"

Evune wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. Carin had killed members of their village, their clan, their _family_. He retorted. "In a tradesmen camp, there are the bodies of my clan drained of their blood." So Carin had known about the bodies. She had killed the hunters, however indirect it looks, his best friend had murdered their own people. Evune breathed out, feeling the air rattle in his chest before he nodded, dusting himself off.

"Never met a blood mage then? Lucky bastard." The Knight-Captain said. "Those sacrifices strengthen their spells. Not a very respectable kind of magic. Our soldiers are restricted from using it in the field." He gestured to one of his soldiers and the men saluted before they began rushing around, packing their things. "We'll need to warn the others. Inform them that the blood mage is using elves."

Evune stared at Carin's lifeless body. He expected to feel more hurt, more betrayed but all he felt was a burdened understanding. He had always wanted to leave as well. It had only been his luck that there were no safe havens for elves.

"It's almost like," the Knight-Captain crossed his arms. "You don't seem very surprised. I can tell you that most of your people, when they learn about blood mages, run straight to the Ox-men. Those horned demons have a fetish for leashing mages."

"I knew there was a traitor. I had a feeling . . ." His voice choked on her name but he shoveled through it. He cleared his throat. "I had hoped it wasn't true." No matter how he tried to explain it to himself, he caused her death. He _knew_ she was the traitor. He _knew_ the Tevinters would be at their camp. He knew there would be a punishment. There was a part of him aware that he was entitled to bringing her to justice, but she only wanted to leave the island.

Would he have fallen to that point in a year? Two? Ten? Desperation was like a form of starvation. Base urges would always arise.

"Betrayal is often a hard scar to heal from." The Knight-Captain said, rather self-reflecting. "Yet, this all leaves me with a problem. What do I do with you?"

The possibility of helping his parents or, at the very least, being together in their last moments was becoming more and more appealing. He didn't want to be alone.

"Anything," Evune started. He stared into the Knight-Captain's eyes and didn't pull away. "But, you have to take me to their bodies. I wish to bury them. Tevinters must understand that."

"Ah, little elven boy, you have no idea of the treacheries they do to your kind, do you? 'Anything', you say." Davan tilted his head. He tapped against his temple. "You're lucky I'm not a man like my brother."

"Your brother?"

"And you're clearly someone who asks questions and always expects to be answered." Davan grinned. He moved his hands to his side. His sword jumped loose from his scabbard. "All these demands. . .have I suddenly become less frightening? Has your friend's blood already become cold?"

"Nothing is more frightening than Death." Evune hissed. "And I am not afraid of dying for my people."

"Only a child would think that. Plenty of things are more frightening, not dying, for example, could be one."

"I'm above the age of majority for you humans, actually." Evune knocked the hand away. "Do not speak to me as if I'm a child."

"Yes, this definitely cinches it." Davan gestured to the two soldiers behind him. "Shackle him."

Evune jumped back but the soldiers quickly came forward and materialized a thick spell to bind his arms together. He looked at Davan quizzically shoving his fears down.

"All the elves were taken to Ath Velanis. "

"They're alive?"

"Possibly."

Davan gestured his soldiers to look forward and away from Evune as he hunched forward hiding his face under his arms.

"It won't be easy, Evunial." The Knight-Captain said, his face serious once again. "Ath Velanis isn't a city or a trade spot. It's a prison. You understand? You'll be on your own."

Evune stubbornly crossed his arms. He would not be shaken from giving his parents the proper burial.

"Worse yet, my brother will be there." The Knight-Captain continued. Evune drew a questioning glance. Davan quirked a smile. "My brother, the Archon of the Imperium, the leader and King of the nation."

Evune straightened his shoulders and then stiffly nodded.

He understood.

* * *

Ocean waves whipped up and smacked against the craters, the caverns of broken rock hiking up the tall distance where Ath Velanis sat. The fortress had several barricades and gates that protruded rocks like blades with pointed cannons positioned on its corners. The upper level of the fortress stood like a granite crown amongst thorny vines. And Evune stood resolute as the soldiers yanked him along the path. The trip was a quiet one that took over the course of nearly three whole days. The Knight-Captain saw fit to feed him. He offered him blankets. Evune had the distinct impression that the Knight-Captain did not like war or fighting for how he led his soldiers and camped far from the battlefield. How his soldiers still respected a leader who refused to fight, now that was a question.

Davan stopped halted them in front of the gates. One of his soldiers shouted up, "Knight-Captain Davan has arrived!"

Several soldiers dressed similarly to the ones that had shackled Evune scrambled above them as the metal's heavy gears twisted, pulling open the weighted gate. This had to be done two more times before reaching the main area of the fortress. Each layer of the fortress had a few hundred soldiers and scouts camped with more weapons on the upper towers that looked like large metal spheres. The fortress was more than just heavy granite, it was impenetrable.

Evune had no idea how he was going to find his parents and much less escape. If there was ever a time for Carin, _his_ Carin, the one whom existed as his close friend, it would be now. He imagined she would say, "Listen but resist speaking and please, whatever you do, don't insult anyone if you have to. It **never** helps.".

A small smile pulled on the edge of his lips as he imagined her frustrated expression as he did those very things. The Carin who died was some replacement, even if he knew this to be false, his friend must have died long ago.

"What are you grinning for?" A gravelly voice sounded and the young elf realized the statement was pointed at him. An aged man stood before him unwavering as the fortress itself. The dimmed torches gleamed behind the old man like a sole figure in a storm. The unblinking eyes stared him down like a foreign, unappetizing meal that couldn't be fathomed in all of its oddity. Evune felt small-he was a bug to this man. Of that, he was sure of. "An elf in a Tevinter prison."

Evune dropped his gaze to the ground as the man swept his robe, a long deep shade of black like coal with golden spinning outlines of fire and sun, strips of cloth hung over his shoulder in a color liken to the rich red of blood and, briefly, Evune saw Carin's death over again as if the blood spilled over this man's shoulders.

Davan flew from behind Evune and swept forward to shake the hand of the older, lanky man. Davan pulled from the handshake and respectfully tilted his head. "He is from the Nazari Clan, the Fog Warriors. He helped us find the deserter's contact."

"Then the contact is dead."

"Yes."

The old man snorted. He turned to Evune's lowered gaze. "You may call me Divine Eristoceles, elf. Follow me."

Evune rolled his eyes. Only humans could make elf sound like an insult.

They followed behind the Divine for several minutes, listening to the echo of the soldier's armor and the sounds of conversation traveling through the halls. The halls were widely empty although he could hear the sounds of movement behind the walls, above the ceiling, and beneath his feet. Their only companions were the monstrous statues looming down from the ceilings and in the corners. Torches and fire flickered as if dancing along the walls and what was left of the day's sunlight was already starting to empty. Davan's voice was the first to break the silence. "Is the Archon—?"

Divine Eristoceles swept his hand out. "Archon Vesces has told me to bring you as soon as I was able."

"Then, shouldn't I—"

"Where do you think I'm going, boy?" The old man finally cut in. His icy look freezing Davan in place like a scolded child.

Evune had to hold in his laughter knowing that this wasn't an appropriate time. Davan slid in to walk beside him. He whispered to the Knight-Captain, "A relative?"

"An old friend of my father's." Davan crossed his arms and continued petulantly, "I'm the only—fasta vass—"

"Are you little brother? Color me surprised."

He finally noticed all the guards in the hall as they all in synchronization stomped their feet, slapped a fist against their chest, and bowed their head—even the soldiers holding his shackles.

The Archon wore a large robe, much like the Divine, but it had much more fabric, thicker gold inlines, and no actual designs sewn in. The hat upon his head was much more extravagant than the whole robe as it sat a several inches above his head and reminded him of the cannons at the ready above the gates with its sharp folds and varying shades of gold on the lining.

Looking between the brothers, their similarities began and ended with their dark brown hair. Where Davan was tan, Archon Vesces was paler skinned. Where Davan had dark eyes, the Archon had one natural green eye and the other a murky purple. And where Davan had no facial hair, the Archon had an organized thick stubble.

He would've never known they were brothers if not for the obvious declaration. Davan walked forward as if to hide Evune from the Archon's gaze when the Knight-Captain's voice echoed in his ear.

 _"You're lucky I'm not a man like my brother._ "

Unfortunately, it seemed the Divine was not in on the plan. The Divine bowed his head slightly as he said, "Archon Vesces, we were just on our way to bring a survivor of the Nazari Clan to his cell."

"An elf?" The Archon asked.

Davan cleared his throat. "Yes, he is."

"Move out the way, brother." The Archon motioned his robe, sweeping it across the floor. Both the Divine and Davan moved out the way.

He couldn't lie and say that he wasn't two steps away from running in the opposite direction. This was the man who led a nation, who fought against the Qunari, and a mage. Instead of admiration, hate bubbled up inside him. This man. _This_ man.

"And you're a Fog Warrior?" Speculation and incredulity coated and bathed the Archon's tone. "Companion adversaries against the Qunari? I imagined you would all be elves with the strength of dragons. Not. . ." The Archon gestured lazily. "This."

It was the last straw.

"And you're the one of a hundred men that's led the Imperium who still can't defeat the Qunari." Evune said, coldly, "We have less than a sixteenth of your men and we've been holding them off all on our own for a century."

Once he started, he couldn't stop. He could see Davan, over the Archon's shoulders, flash in surprise and warn him with his eyes telling him, "Stop while you're ahead."

But he couldn't. The anger, the frustration, all of it spilled out into words directed at the one person he knew _for sure_ would kill him for it.

"And yet, who has your men now?" The Archon's voice deepened and his mouth tightened taut.

"Congratulations." Evune said. He clapped his hands together as the shackles clinked beneath his wrists. "You found _one_ clan with thirty people–some of them children. And it still took the Qunari to help you out."

The Archon's lips twisted into a scowl and his hands wrapped around his neck, pulling up his face. The hold around his neck wasn't tight enough to choke but enough to make his lungs burn and his eyes water. "Why did you surrender? You don't have the posture of a coward who would sell out a clan member to _help_ us."

Evune grappled against his hold, gasping, "I didn't-"

"My brother simply happened upon their person without any hints, any leads, and then conveniently decided to bring you to your family. You must think I'm a fool."

"Fene. . . dhis. . . ," the hold around his neck started to constrict. The Archon's eyes piercing still, unblinking, as he waited for Evune to answer. Finally, Evune breathed out, ". . . lasa."

Davan laid a hand on the Archon's arm. He said, lowly, "The elf found the deserter's contact in his clan. He helped us."

"He helped _you._ Don't try to protect the elf, brother," the Archon replied, his hold still tight around Evune's neck, "He'll have to learn how to speak to his betters."

"I. . . don't. . . have. . .betters." He choked. All he had was his pride and he would be damned if anyone would take it away. They couldn't have everything.

The Archon smirked. He loosened his grip and raised his thumb to press against Evune's upper cheek.

"Brother, don't!"

Evune felt a searing burn press against his cheek and when he wanted to scream the Archon covered his mouth as anger steamed into tears and fell over the Archon's hand. He fell to the ground, even after Archon Vesces removed his hand, feeling the echoes of the burn.

The Archon leaned towards his brother, whispering something in his ear before snapping his robes away and leaving down the hall. The Divine and Davan shared a look before unshackling Evune and leading him down the hall.

"Knight-Captain—"

As soon as they made the turn around the hall, Davan took the opposite direction, ignoring Evune as he disappeared. Evune erased the smallest sprout of guilt and focused on the reason he was here. His parents.

* * *

These halls, unlike the earlier ones, were decorated with banners falling from the ceiling, carpet on the floor, and even more guards with backs pressed against the walls. He turned to the Divine, who merely lead him through the several twists and turns of the fortress until they went to the lower floors with three cell blocks. There were five torches but the lights were weak and the area was otherwise dark except for the few spots closest to the torches.

The Divine whispered to the guards in the cell block before leaving.

The guard spoke, "You get ten minutes, elf."

Evune struggled against their hold and tripped onto the floor of the holding room. "Wait, tell me what's going on?" The guards stoically ignored him. Looking down at his bruised wrists, he stood up and stared into each cell. Many of the prisoners weren't even from his clan but from neighboring clans.

"Is that you? Da'len?"

He swiveled at the sound and ran to his mother's arms through the cell bars. The bars weren't made of metal and he had to assume they were magic because of their slight translucency.

"Where's—?"

"I don't know, my little moonlight. I don't know." His mother gently pulled his braid that had quickly begun to unravel throughout the last two days. She began untwisting and retwisting it from the scalp. "Lean closer to the bar, da'len."

"They killed Carin."

His mother only sighed.

His head fell back against the bars and his mother wrapped her arms around him as he said, "You knew."

"When the wards fell, I knew. For some people, it is a relief and a freedom. For others, this is not the life for them to toil and struggle in complacency; but to take another's life like she did? Abhorrent." She patted his shoulders and continued to braid his hair. "You must be practical, da'len. This may be the last time we ever see each other."

Evune clutched his legs tight to his body. He only sniffed.

"You'll have to be brave. Brave like I'm going to be. Brave like your father was." His mother said.

"I'm not ready." Evune choked on his tears.

His mother hushed him, making a low humming sound,"Shhhhh, did you read the journal?"

"Some of it. The one about Andruil and the halla—the war."

"Then you know where you descend from." His mother leaned close to his ear, low enough so that the guards couldn't hear, and said, "You must be careful, especially around these men. You aren't built like your village brothers. You must use your cleverness first and all else after."

He closed his eyes and listened as his mother's fingers quickly and carefully twisted his hair from his scalp to his nape.

She moved a hand against his cheek and then stilled. "Da'len, what is this mark on your cheek?"

He lifted his hand and it still stung against his finger. "I don't know. The Archon made it."

"Turn to me. Let me see your face." He turned and looked into his mother's weary eyes. The others in the cell were still asleep and none of them did he recognize. "It's in the shape of a moon. Did he tell you anything when he gave you this mark?"

Evune pursed his lips and said nothing. She flicked her hand against his sullen cheeks and smiled.

The guard slammed his staff into the stone flooring. "Time is up!"

His mother pulled away from the cell bars. "Listen to me, stay safe. And at all costs, listen to me, da'len, at all costs, survive. Don't try to save me. You won't be able to."

His eyes widened as the guard picked him up, much more carefully than he would have ever expected, and his mother raised her voice, "I love you!"

"But I have to try! I have to—" He shouted back as the doors slammed shut.

* * *

"What are you going to do with me?"

The guard kept silent. He walked ahead, opening doors for him and leading him to the uppermost towers. He expected there to be another group of prison cells but instead there was a long twisting downward staircase. The bottom was so far down that he couldn't even see it.

The guard pointed down the stairs.

"Welcome to the Hole."

With a shove, Evune began walking ahead of the guard down the stairs as something strange began to happen. The wide, open gap of the tower on each level would flicker and a large round room would appear as they walked down a certain number of steps. These large round rooms were cells, as Evune had no other words for an enclosed space built for holding a person. Each of them had beds, furniture, some were decorated in intricate ways with browns and blues or white and gold. Yet, all of the domes sat empty. The domes had oddly shaped mechanisms holding them up on both top and bottom ends. Triggers that appeared to connect to the top of the towers.

It felt like an hour before they finally reached the bottom where another dome sat but unlike the others it was empty of everything, including furniture.

"Stretch out your arms and your legs."

Evune pulled up his arms and separated his legs as the guard removed every single one of his weapons. The guard was clever enough to put a simple ward in place to prevent him from moving as both his daggers, the one on his waist and a hidden one shoved near his ankle, were pulled out. When the guard pulled out the journal tucked in his shirt, Evune stopped him. "It's only a journal."

The guard gave him a perusing look and then kept hold of the journal. He ended the ward but Evune still felt the loose, flimsy feeling in his legs and arms much like when he sat in one place for too long. A cold numbness sat in his bones as he listened to the sharp whistle of what sounded like the sharpening of blades.

The guard tapped against the dome and an opening zipped up. He shoved Evune into the dome and then tossed the journal in right after.

"Elf, if you want a bed put a hand against the wall and it will appear. If not, I'm sure sleeping on the floor isn't unfamiliar to you."

Evune gave the guard a confused expression but the guard simply spun around on one foot and made his way back up the stone staircase. Inside the dome, it was large enough for him to stand and stretch out his hands but ultimately confining in that it made him constantly aware of the fact that he was trapped. He raised a hesitant hand to the concave wall and felt it to be much softer than he expected as if a bubble could have thick skin. He closed his eyes and when he blinked them open, he turned around.

It was _his_ room filling the dome. His bed, books on the floor, the carpet his father and mother had bought on their marriage day. It didn't have any of the portraits or knick-knacks he had on his wall since the dome didn't technically have walls but this was good enough.

He only wondered, "Why?"

Why had they given him such freedom and luxury?

"So, you're the last one he's chosen for the Hole?" the woman came out from the shadows. Her pale skin almost ethereal in the night, her blonde hair like spun yarn on her head, and her dress black as night with feathers as her collar. Her shoulders pointed outward like spikes and her chin like a dulled blade. Everything about her was sleek like a viper. "He must not like you very much, but I did tell him he had one more spot to fill."

For as delicate as the woman appeared, she walked around his dome like a predator, a hunter. He had almost immediately dismissed her in his mind as one of those weak humans but a nervous shake in his fingers told him otherwise.

She was good.

Before he could ask a question, the woman spoke again. "I am Consort Elvia, the Archon's wife, if you will, and I'm the one who organizes the trials for the Hole. So, here are the rules."

If he showed any of the confusion he felt outside on his face, she ignored it with ease and continued to speak with her boots tapping against the stone flooring as she paced back and forth. "There will be three trials depending on the results and the final decision of the Archon, there may even be four. Your job is to succeed in winning as many of the trials as possible and winning the Archon's favor. Clearly," the woman, Elvia, gave a distasteful look around, "you are already the least in his favor since he's placed you completely in the bottom of the tower. Now, look up."

Evune looked up and saw spindly wires connected to the top of the dome.

"As you gain favor, whether or not you win a trial, yes, you can gain favor without winning the trials but you _must_ win the trials, then those strings will pull you up and another will be lowered. You have five other competitors, whom you will meet twice a day during meals, and as there are no rules against. . .fraternization or even working in pairs. It is possible for all of you to win and it is possible for all of you to lose. Understood?"

"What happens if we lose?"

Elvia's face brightened and she took several steps forward towards the dome. She stared directly into his eyes as she said, "I'm glad you asked. If you lose all favor, you die. If you fail all the trials, you die. And, if we agree that you aren't worth the waste of resources, you die."

"I don't understand." He shook his head. He pressed a hand against his temple and closed his eyes. "Why?"

Elvia's marble face shifted into a pitiable glance. "Oh, you're one of those, aren't you? Well, the winner of the Hole gets to be the Archon's new bed servant."

"Bed servant?"

Elvia laughed and the shrill sound of her voice echoed up the tower, clawing at his ears. His insides were telling him to be afraid and he felt his throat dry as his heart sped up.

She said, "You will have the pleasure of attending to the Archon's every personal and physical need which includes but isn't limited to bathing, scribing, and sex."

"No." Evune slapped a hand against the domed walls. "You—you can't."

"Oh, well, actually—

"You can kill me now," Evune gritted his teeth. "Because I won't."

"Oh, someone is a little dramatic. You won't be _required_ to do so. It is only one of the possibilities." Elvia turned around and took a peripheral glance at him. "Dear me, did I forget to say it? Me and my memory. You see, if, or rather, when you lose all favor and the trials, your pointy-eared clan members will be placed in something we call the Games and slaughtered on the spot. It's one of my favorite parts of the Hole actually."

Seething, he took a step back. He hissed. "You're a monster. You're all monsters."

Elvia tutted. "Ah, now that's not a way to gain our favor, is it? Well, I guess we'll find out tomorrow. Enjoy the first trial."

Elvia walked forward into the shadows and he heard a winding gear, then the sharp screech of stone. Her tapping footsteps disappeared.


	4. Chapter 4

He dreamt that night of mirrors. Mirrors with his villagers' faces, his parent's face, blank mirrors, broken mirrors enshrouded by vines surrounding him as his hands dug deep into the dirt. The sky above him swirled white, black, red, blue, yellow, and green before it turned to mud. Electricity tickled his tongue and a heavy breeze sped by as if something had punched the air. His body fell forward as if the very gravity of this new world weighed him down and pulled his head, his shoulders with it. His body hit the floor, yet there was no impact. His fingers began to burn as a blue fire crawled up his arms encompassing it completely. The fire consumed him. It blinded him. He tried crouching up on his knees and pushing his body upwards against the invisible weight.

A woman's voice, warbled in the air, came from his mouth, "Ma den tel'uth girem'len, ma falon.(You were never a slave, my friend.)."

The voice that replied, more warbled than the woman's, was indiscernible

"Melan'an, ar lasa mala revas uthenera(Then, I give you your freedom in Uthenera.)"

A hand twisted around his neck and yanked him to the ground, pulling him to the edge of the ground where the grass and bricks ended. The platform of land floated in the air and there was nothing below him.

Nothing but the colors of the sky below him, around him, and behind him was all he saw.

His hands grappled the edge as his body hung off the ledge, his legs flailing in the air. Shackles flew up and wrapped around his legs pulling him as he fought against the pull. The shackles pulled and pulled until Evune couldn't hold the ledge any longer.

He fell and fell and fell and fell and fell and fell. . . until. . .

" _Ane mala vasreëm_ (You are now free)."

Evune opened his eyes to find the darkened tower lit up by the no longer dull domes hovering in the spaces above him. He pressed at his arm, pulling his skin as if the fire in his dreams would suddenly appear.

It did not.

"Another elf? Kaffas. He has a type."

"Yasu, stop talking."

"And who made you Queen Consort, Keela?"

A crash of relief fell through him cooler than the evening's first low tide on . His eyes raised to the ones who stood above him. He could see only two of the five others within their domed rooms. Keela and Yasu's voice rang clear likely for the fact that they were the ones closest to him.

"Even in Rivain we know Tevinters don't have queens, idiot."

Keela sat in a dome above Yasu. She was dressed in a wrapping of rich red that clung to her muted sunflower skin. Freckles spotted her face to bring her green eyes to attention but the bird standing on her finger did so as well. The bird danced atop her finger and cleaned its feathers as she petted a soft hand against it.

Yasu, unlike Keela, was barely dressed at all. His chest bare and a white wrapping around his waist to his knees, he had criss-crossed scars around his arms and a thick head of black straight hair on his head unlike any he had ever seen of those so pale.

Yasu scoffed. He replied, mockingly, "Even in Rivain, we sell our daughters to kings"

Keela shook her head and the dome she sat in turned milky white. She could no longer be seen through the dome.

"Sore loser." Yasu finished. He flipped on his side only to finally make note of Evune. He jumped from his bed and walked to the concave wall. "Well, well, it looks like the final chosen has awoken. How do you feel?"

Evune had a million words he wanted to say, but he couldn't speak them. "Fine."

"If that's not the worst lie I've ever heard," Yasu said, "I don't know what a lie is."

"I don't even know you."

"Do you think that matters? Come on, elf to elf, how did you get here?"

Evune pulled his legs together and sat against the concave walls of his dome. "My friend betrayed our village to a blood mage. I'm not a warrior. I can't save anyone. I just. . ." Evune dropped his shoulders and went silent. After seeing his mother, he never planned on being anything else other than in the prison with them.

"I ran away from my clan and right into Tevinter hands." Yasu added. "Whatever you did couldn't be any stupider than that."

The both of them sat in silence.

"I heard some Tevinters were nearby and I wanted to hitch a ride." The other elf said with a smirk. "Not the way I planned to go about it, but it could be worse."

"Flutterbugs and Qunari swords couldn't be worse."

Yasu tilted his head in disagreement. "Whether an Archon is going to make you his prized slave or not isn't so bad. It could be worse. Or we could be dead."

"That doesn't make sense. Nothing is worse than death."

Yasu laughs. "You must be a fledgling swordsman. Only a wet whistled. . . " Yasu turns to glance at Evune's crestfallen expression, "This was your first battle."

Evune retorts. "I've thrown daggers from the trees. . .and shot arrows. I've even set up grenades and made poisons. I've probably killed hundreds." He shuffles out from his despondent position and sat back against the dome with his legs splayed out. "I'm not sure it was even a fight."

"But you've never been on the frontlines. Ever?"

Evune kept silent. Yasu sighs. "We'll all be on the frontlines soon enough. Don't have to rush, I guess."

"What are they going to do with us?"

"Whatever they want to. None of have a clue what it could be. They stuff us in these domes and leave us alone. They only bother us when it's time to eat."

Evune dropped his head against the dome backing. The stupid Knight-Captain jinxed him. He shook his head. It didn't matter. He couldn't stay here. He stood up and stared at the mechanisms. "What do these triggers do?"

Yasu tossed him a questioning look. "They keep the domes up."

"The hanger up there keeps us up." Evune pointed to the long winding metal bars connected to the top of the domes and then he pointed below the dome. "But, what do these do?"

"I don't know. Keep it from rolling back and forth."

Evune jumped up and down, hearing the mechanism under him squeak. He stomped his feet, listening to the crunch and squeal of metal. The dome tipped unsteady before gaining its balance. Yasu stood up and said, "What are you doing?"

"I can't stay here." Evune tossed back. "I'm getting out." He struck the dome walls with his shoulder and the dome tipped over slightly. He hit it again and it snapped free, rolling off the trigger hinge and the dome evaporated into smoke. The bottom hinge started leaking a yellow liquid that smelt of grass and burnt hair. His legs tensed and then he shot off, running up the spiraling staircase. He ignored the pang of his legs screaming at him to stop and reached the top, throwing the door open. Swiveling his head from one side to the next, he couldn't remember which direction to go at the two-way hall. The sounds of guards whispering fell into his right ear and he sped off into the left hall running until he reached another hall. This one was familiar—this was the hall with the statues lining the halls.

He cursed.

"Who—?" The voice of someone behind him propelled him forward and he slid down the right hall, the left, and then down the stairs into an unfamiliar hall with one door at the end. The torches were lit low and he could barely see. The guard's voices got louder and Evune ran forward, standing on the tips of his toes to see over the barred door opening. A hand snatched at his shoulder and yanked him into the nearest room. He fell on the floor and looked up to find a room full of ripped sheets, a metal craft table, and various plier tools. The room was a torture room missing only the bodies and the blood.

The man wore leather gloves tightened his hands as if preparing to strangle him with a thick metal mask. Evune reeled back and his back smacked into the wall. He frantically pulled at the door knob behind him when the man took a step forward, reaching his hand towards him. The man unhooked a fire lighter hanging behind and above Evune's shoulders. The craftsman turned back to his craft table.

Evune shifted around the room to see it full of shelves with storage containers full of gems and sparkling stones, twisted bracelets made of metal twine, and glass marbles. He followed the shelves until reaching necklaces, earrings, and rings of curved white and yellow gold decorated in rubies, jade, and amethyst.

"You can sit at the chair." The man paused. His voice muffled by the mask. "I may need an extra hand."

Evune glanced at the craft table full of twisted and untwisted metals. He answered, "I'm a warrior, a hunter, not a smith." He could hear the screech of armored hands against the wall and running greaves run pass.

"The weakest chain in a necklace is the grading scale to measure a smith." The man said. He placed a green-tinted necklace on his hand and raised it into the light. "What does this say about the Archon who can't keep a handle on his underlings?"

Evune huffed. "Nothing complimentary. The man is a monster like all others."

"A monster?" The man replied airily, "The man who oversees thousands and hundreds of thousands doesn't have the luxury." His hand tightened and the necklace in his hold snapped in half. He slid it into the miniature metalworking pot to be melted again.

"I can't stay here."

Evune walked to the door and the man lifted his mask, leaning against the wall. Bitter acrid and metal smelting hit their nose. "And if you don't, you'll go where?" In front of him, out from underneath the mask stood the Archon, his face smudged in dust and grime. He dipped the metal in the water bath on the left side of the table, where the heated pot wasn't. "If they find out who was running in the halls, Elvia will slaughter your family."

"You mean _you_ will." Evune hissed, flushing with anger and frustration.

The Archon shook his head and pulled his mask down as he began clicking his fire lighter starting on another piece of his unfinished work. The sparks lit up and stretched across the thin metal line of silver on his table, turning it a deep red. They sat in silence as the Archon began braiding the metals together like a pattern of colored metals.

"Why haven't you punished me yet?"

"You are reacting as expected. You were trapped and your family's home destroyed." The Archon blew out the spark of fire and flipped the mask up. He twisted around to Evune and said, "My anger was unwarranted so that your fault became my own. I took out my own ever increasing pressure out on you. A weak chain, I admit."

"The war won't end by capturing us and killing us." Evune said. He broke his gaze with the Archon.

"All the other members of the Hole are willing participants." The Archon said. "Their family is only a collateral to prevent insurrection and betrayal. Something I'm sure you are now knowledgeable of."

"Then why me?"

The Archon walked to his storage and rummaged through his drawers until he pulled out a long beaded body necklace of small gems. "In an effort to strengthen our Dwarven alliance, as a young man, I worked with a smith and learned to craft thin, weak metals into something strong."

Evune stared at the body necklace shimmering in the weaker torch light and said nothing.

"I heard your mother tell you not to save her. I—"

Evune cut in, "I'll find another way. I'll win your stupid trials and then go home."

"Only if you wish to gain our favor, _my_ favor." The Archon said as he stepped forward. He leaned down and whispered in his ear. "I wish for you to wear it."

Evune's hands clenched and his heart palpitated, stuttered in his chest. "I have my pride."

"It's a simple request. I ask for nothing else. In fact, if you leave, your family will face no punishment." The Archon said carefully. His eyes reflecting the flickering torch fire in his iris. "But you will stay at the bottom of the trials."

Evune swallowed harshly, before carefully loosening his tunic, dropping it to the floor. He pulled down his leggings and making sure not to meet the Archon's gaze. The Archon stepped forward and wrapped the body necklace on his body, the jewels lining across his shoulders, arms, chest, and falling short right under his hips in waves. He pulled away and glanced at Evune.

"Has anyone ever called you wondrously beautiful before?"

"I don't need compliments." Evune rose his stubborn gaze to meet the Archon's. "I fight for the lives of the future and my birthright not for material or immaterial wealth."

"And what future is that?" The Archon said with his lips twisting in humor and Evune gritted his teeth. "An island for another six centuries fighting a never-ending war as nomads hunting for survival. What is good for your people?"

"Survival." Evune seethed.

"If I offered you the chance for your clan's safety, your safety at the cost of a small request, would you take it?"

Evune hissed. "No, nothing you say can be trusted."

Hands pounded at the door. "Archon Vesces, are you alright?"

Evune's drew up his gaze in a heated fear and felt his heart stutter in his chest when the Archon replied, "I am more than fine."

"Of course, sir." The footsteps of the men shuffled around and disappeared down the hall.

"So unnecessarily stubborn." The Archon pointed at the other end of the room to a small corner where a wide couch and a blanket spread over sat. "I imagine if you tried to leave or were caught outside, Elvia would order your execution. But you still won't ask for help."

"She's your wife." Evune said with gritted teeth.

"The Lady Consort is a title that allows her, with the right leverage, the same amount of clout as me. Marriage among nobles isn't as idyllic as a marriage between lovers, like I imagine your parents are." The Archon said with furrowed brows, thoughtfully. "I suggest you sleep here while I tell her the reasoning behind your absence."

The Archon tilted his head before leaving the room and a loud _click_ after the door closed. Evune rushed to the door knob and yanked. It wouldn't open. He waved his hand against his cheeks, realizing that the room was warmer than the rest of the castle, and dropped back down to the couch actually thankful for the jewelry coolness against his skin. The heat eased a hazy warmth and he fell asleep.

 _1_ _st_ _day of Matrinalis_

 _Funalis Begins_

When he woke up again, the door had slammed open followed by the sound of rustling and tossing of things on the floor. Evune blearily rubbed his eyes and found the Archon slamming metal on his craft table before breathing heavily, his hands clenching and unclenching. He kept silent only to be found out when he moved and the body necklace clanked together.

The Archon twisted around and huffed. "I half expected you to be gone."

"And leave my family to die."

"Family is never as sweet as stories depict." The Archon said, still breathing heavily. "You can rest easy knowing that Elvia believes that I'm punishing you for breaking the dome."

Evune didn't care that the man was suffering—rightfully so in his opinion— so much that it was done in effort to help him. It rang false within him. He would've preferred the opposite. "You could be punishing me."

The Archon leaned forward. "I was hasty in my decision. It—my anger is not something I am especially proud of." He met Evune's gaze. "Consider this my apology."

Evune sat up on the couch, letting the blanket fall to the floor as he said, "You'll need a better apology than that."

The Archon's eyes dropped and then slowly raised up to his face. Evune cocked his head to the side and the Archon replied, "It's rather warm in the room. While I'm working, it may get hotter."

Evune nodded. "This is practically the frozen season in Seheron. I think I can handle it."

The Archon flipped his metal mask on and Evune searched for an open corner, pushing the table and small chest closer to the shelf storage to make more space. He figured he could train in the meantime. The forms he was taught were only four different steps. The skill came from mixing and blending the forms together. He swung his leg up and switched with his other leg like a windmill. The second involved swinging his hand like a blade. The third was an elbow punch. But the fourth was about bending his back and flipping over. He wasn't sure for how long he practiced when he heard the Archon's metal snap and a curse. He turned around, the necklace clinking on his skin. "If you burn yourself, they'll blame the elf."

The Archon hissed and shoved the broken metal on the ground before pressing his hands on his face. "This isn't going to work."

Evune stood silent.

"I am spending my days wheedling away to pretend that my duties are merely on pause rather than stolen out from my grasp." The Archon said, "It seems the only power I have is to add and create nobility but even that—

"You could make me nobility and solve all our problems."

"Hah," The Archon said, he turned around and crossed his arms, "You would do all that I ask."

"A leader's job is to lead his people to the rightfully chosen path. If you did it well, why would I argue?" Evune shot back. He watched as the Archon closed his eyes and sweat fell down his brow. The Archon sighed and slid down to the ground.

Evune carefully walked over to check his temperature. He was aware the machinations of politics and kingdoms were complicated but it didn't absolve the Archon of any guilt. Perhaps he was trying to convince himself that his guiltless behavior was supported.

Did the reason ever support the means? Should he have taken Carin to her death? Yes and no. It was a dilemma that would be wrong either way but it was wrong at the start. It could only be wrong in the end.

He pressed a hand to his brows to feel a hot forehead. "You need to cool down and rest." He pulled the shirt off the Archon's shoulders and the man only closed his eyes, with his head back against the stone wall. Evune motioned to pull his pants when the Archon snatched his hands.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

"You're burning up." The Archon loosened his grip and allowed Evune to pull off his pants before he began waving his hands like fans. "If you die, I'll definitely be blamed."

"I'm not dying. It's only heat."

"You humans are more fragile than you think."

The Archon chuckled. "It will do you a great surprise to know my mother was part elven. She was more than half, less than whole. Enough."

Evune scrutinized his face, his eyes, and his rounded ears—even his height.

"Sounds like nug shit." Evune winced.

The Archon sighed.

"I didn't mean—

"Yes—Yes, you did."

"It must've been hard."

The Archon twisted his mouth. "It is no harder than becoming Archon. I was only lucky that my brother is not a mage."

"I don't see why you would do all this if you were constantly told not to." Evune hated the constant pressure of his parents to do more and be better. It wasn't something he believed he could do to himself if not forced. "I would've given up."

"It was never that I was told not to but that doing it meant encountering all my weaknesses. There were no friends on the climb to the throne—not even my brother. But giving up meant that all those insults were true." The Archon shook his head. "My mother told me to live a simple life. She told me not to try too hard. It only made me want it more."

Evune pressed another hand on the Archon's forehead. His temperature only slightly cooler than before. "Your brother is at a position to support you now. I can't imagine him fighting you too much when you've already won."

"My brother," the Archon blithely said, "hates me and all of my work. He likes being my opposition. The day I win is the day I die and none of them can continue to obstruct me."

Evune scoffed.

"Am I wrong?" The Archon gave a small smile.

"Only morbid to say the least."

"I spoke to a fortune teller. A mage who can guess your future with a weak accuracy."

Evune questioned, "My parents would've thought it was ridiculous. Nothing is predetermined, well, except destiny." He finished his sentence on a quieter note.

The Archon said humorously, "Unless it has to do with a death, then the fortune teller's words were believed to be true. Wisdom meant nothing in the face of fear."

"No one wants to die." Evune added.

The Archon nodded. "There's something about death that fate has already determined by the measure of your soul, the people you know, and the life you live. I, myself, already had a vague idea of my death." Evune used his shirt to dry his sweating cheeks and chest as the Archon continued to speak, "It is a favorite event of an Archon to ask about their end so I went as was traditional. I was told that it'll be by someone I like. Even now, I'm sure that it's true."

"I wouldn't trust anyone either if I was told that." Evune sighed. "I would try to hate everyone I met."

"It's much harder than you think." The Archon replied. His fingers flimsily shook the jewelry on Evune's hip and Evune tossed him a warning look. "My tastes are rather obscure but a man of wealth will encounter their preferences a hundred times before finding one."

"You're not making any sense."

The Archon laughed but made no effort to say more. Evune wondered if the Archon was overheated and slowly losing coherent sense. There was only one sure way to know.

"Is this also why," Evune hesitated but ran forward because it couldn't be any worse than what was already said, "elves seem to be your preference." He waited for the Archon to snap at him but instead he only laughed.

"Is that what they say? Perhaps it is because elven women have more pride than to use me for bastards."

"So, you don't—

The Archon finished. "I like my partners willing participants. Hence why me and the Lady Consort have yet to bear children."

"I haven't either."

"Either what?" The Archon asked as he closed his eyes. Evune checked his forehead again to find that it was starting too cool down. His sweat was drying. "Had children. You look too young for that."

"No, the act of it." Evune said, "And I'm a little over nineteen full twelve seasons—a majority in human years _and_ elven but people in my clan were wary of me." The Archon quirked a brow and Evune felt compelled to continue, "Those born with white hair are considered the last marks of Arlathan. It's supposed to mean my life is full of success and luck. My clansmen feared or watched me with wariness and silence. They never knew how to react to me. Interestingly enough, I've found out more than once that this is another thing we've been mistaken about."

"It makes more sense than you think. You have a tempestuous spirit about you and a draw. I was insulted by you at first but also admiring." The Archon said, he opened his eyes, the sweat off his brow drying too. "But I am also blissfully attracted to you."

"Isn't that what I'm here for?" Evune scoffed.

The Archon replied softly, "There are little things about you that make you peculiar. Even something as small as your hands on my thighs or you wearing that necklace still while lacking cruel intent. It's bewildering to me."

Evune blinked and then moved his hand up, feeling the Archon's leg twitch. "How does this do or mean anything? You must be ticklish."

The Archon shifted and when Evune moved his hand up further, snapped his hand over his. "You would do well not to tempt me."

"You're not answering me."

The Archon sighed before pulling his hand to his clothed cock, feeling it twitch under both their holds. "The more you touch, the more skin you show, especially the closer you move, is a temptation to want _more_."

 **Evune** raised him a curious look before dragging his other hand up, pressing against the thickening cock underneath. The Archon moved his hand on either side as Evune continued to move his hand up and down feeling his thick twitch. It pressed up against him and his cock began to push through the underclothes and slipped out from the side. He pressed his fingers along the tip to the sack, rubbing, listening to the Archon groan.

"Grip it with your hand." The Archon said, tightening his hands. Evune carefully gripped his cock, sliding up and down, watching as the Archon breathed heavily again but without the sweat on his brow. The cock's skin stretching under his palm and grew stiff. Hands gripped his waist and the Archon splayed him over his legs.

Evune dropped his hands to the Archon's grip. "What are you doing?" The grip tightened and slid him closer on his lap. The Archon said, "Equal pleasure given and shared." Fingers dipped into the crease of his ass, sliding his heat over the hardened cock. Evune gasped, dropping his head forward. Their hips slid and pressed, wet slicking their thrusts, as fingers slowly pressed in, opening and loosening him up, before pulling out as his cock slid against his stomach. The Archon groaned into his ear, his hips thrusting up before his stomach felt wet with cum and he trembled into his own release.

"How do you feel?" The Archon said, his hands grappling along Evune's back.

Evune breathed sharply. "Relaxed and exhausted."

"Yes, it does wonders on stress and frustration." His fingers rolling up and down his back.

"I feel," Evune paused, "confused. Is this normal?"

"We do not know each other well. I don't believe you particularly like me. It's natural."

Evune clicked his tongue. "You don't particularly like me either."

The hours they spent discussing were unrelated to the things of Tevinter and Seheron but rather of fruit, breads, and dreams. The Archon's biggest dream being peace in his empire. Evune called bullshit.

"War seems counterproductive."

"The war is the only thing keeping the Qunari from attacking the rest of Thedas." The Archon blew on a rag sitting on his end table drenching it in water. "Our southern neighbors should be thankful."

"It's cold. You should've made it for yourself earlier." Evune said when the Archon squeezed the washrag and wiped Evune's chest while they both sat on the couch. He thought it convenient that a mage could summon water. The Archon leaned back on the arm of the couch with Evune pressed against his chest.

"I wasn't at my best."

Evune ignored the sharp barb of his careless words. He said, "Mages must not do much at all if they can fetch water and summon bathing rags."

"Ah, but we do plenty by hand. Water will never be the correct temperature with magic. There is still a level of ingenuity required in Tevinter."

Evune slowly nodded. "The mechanisms used to build the domes. You came up with it." The Archon dragged his fingers along his stomach.

The Archon replied, "I had some help, but the triggers in the mechanism were to keep a limit on the magic of the dome. We didn't want everyone asking for feasts and drowning themselves in food. The potion underneath is a bottled inhibitor."

"In another life, would you be a smith or a gear-maker?"

The Archon hummed. "A smith. I rather like the idea of metal molded to my every whim." The Archon started kneading his chest, flicking his nipples, as Evune rolled his hips back. Fingers pressed against his lips and the Archon lowered his voice, "Suck." Evune pulled in the fingers into his mouth, licking and sucking. The Archon began speaking as he twisted his fingers in his mouth. "I wonder about your wish to free your clan. Had you the desire, if you let me keep you, you wouldn't ever have to worry."

As the fingers moved and thrusted in his mouth, Evune could not speak. His first reaction was to say, "No!" offended and angry as if he could be "kept" like one of the Archon's objects in storage. Yet, to refuse without thinking of it, even for a second, was unfair. His clan may already be out of options.

The Archon continued to speak, "Of course, you'll say no. You may even win the trials and this would seem like a distant dream. But, I want to make you aware of your options." He pulled out his fingers and continued trailing his hands along his waist and leg.

Evune breathed out, "Why?"

"You are wildly unpredictable." The Archon pressed Evune closer to his chest, and wrapped a leg over his. "But, your emotions are written all over your face. It's rather refreshing. Perhaps, somewhere, there is something we both want that we could get together."

Evune felt his cock thicken against his back.

"Stand up for me."

Evune tossed a questioning glance before slipping off the couch and standing up. The warmth of the room and the cold water on his skin left him feeling a comfortable in-between temperature.

"Pull off my underclothes."

Evune huffed before gripping the edges of the clothes and slipping them off. The Archon's gaze fell over him again but he felt different this time. The fire still burning in his eyes yet he felt no fear.

"You feel it, don't you? The power. The control." The Archon placed his hands on Evune's hips.

Evune swallowed but said nothing.

"You would be smart to use it against me as I will use it against you. And so will everyone else."

The idea of this contradicted the very pride he had created within himself. He was not to be owned or traded. There was no relation between him and the other elves, the _weaker_ elves who aimed to either dominate or be dominated. But, he had also never had power over another. The Archon is a king. What did make him?

 **Evune** slid his hands on either side of the Archon and listened to him exhale sharply as he lowered his lips to his cock.

* * *

He cuts into the hallway leading to the tower to find Elvia standing right in front of him with an entourage of guards. She waved them off as each guard moved from either the end or beginning of the hall, blocking its entrance. Her eyes fell over him like a knived torture device, poking at his skin, looking for weak layers of skin.

She doesn't hesitate or flinch as she speaks. "You slept with him." Elvia covers up her mouth with her fingers. She laughs at him. He glared back hoping his hatred showed through but by Elvia's nonchalance knew that his feelings meant nothing to her.

Elvia states, cradling her fingers in hand, twisting them around in boredom, "I hate locks." A twisted smile flits over her lips. "Passwords, even barricades, they're all just things created to simply delay the inevitable. But you? I never knew I hated prideless people until now." Her mouth stretched into a pitiable glance. "You're only a puppy like all the rest." She snaps around with her heels clacking and that smirk plastered on her face.

He twisted on his feet and walked into the tower knowing that a small part of him agreed with her.

He was returned to the newly repaired dome only to see that all the other domes were opaque. His dome zipped closed at his entrance and stood there for a minute when a loud creak echoed down from the highest half of the tower. A wisp of light enveloped him, blinding him as a slow ringing struck his ears. He opened his mouth and the dizziness disappeared. The bright light disappeared and he raised his eyes to see an open dome above him and above the others' seating.

He was no longer in the dome but a hall. There were two long tables full of three different kinds of meats, several types of round, oblong, and stick-like fruits, and breads. Iron hangings and windows closer to the ceiling than the ground where the light fell over them. His stomach growled and he wasn't sure even with hunger carving its way through his stomach that he was even able to eat.

He was beginning to hate magic.

In front of them was a more intricate table with dragon heads and a dragon's stunted wings for legs. The Archon, Consort Elvia, and the Divine with an even more extravagant feast including meat he had never seen before such as thick soups that could feed several villages, and dressed up plants in bowls layered about. Standing up beside them at this higher platform in full-armor was Davan. He recognized his armor and the blade at his side. He was sure of it.

"I hate it when they do that." A young woman in front of him grumbled. Smaller and clearly younger than the others, perhaps even Evune's age, was a similar shade of brown to him as well except, whereas his tone was more cool, hers was warm and red. She had plump cheeks and bright eyes but a wiry, curved figure. Her formless robes hid most of her from sight, even the book she had in her hand. She snapped the book shut as she twisted her heavy, thick hair into a bun with the other.

Yasu slid in the seating bench beside him and whispered. "Where were you?"

"In solitary confinement if anyone had to guess." Gheeran shot out with smirking lips.

Yasu added, raising his voice, "And grumpy Gheeran strikes again. Will she attack us with her eyebrows or will she stuff a loaf of bread in her mouth?"

Gheeran flattened her hand on the table and slyly pulled out a torn piece of warm bread to her mouth before lobbing the piece straight at Yasu's head.

Evune's eyes jumped around the wide hall and caught the eyes of Keela and one other that he hadn't spoken to. This one had a scrutinizing, cold glance that eerily reminded him of Elvia like a creature planning to pick out his eyeball with its teeth. Lying on her face sat a porcelain mask, like a figurine, adding a far uncomfortable part of the woman that Elvia lacked. She was a glass doll with lace coverings draped over her body.

The Archon's chair screech throughout the wide halls and the murmured whispers silenced.

"Consort Elvia has explained to each and every one of you what you are to do and what is at stake." The Archon's gaze swept across the room. "The first trial begins today to kick off the celebration of Funalis."

The Archon clapped his hands and the brick walls became transparent. All around them were hundreds of soldiers, green and blue lace-dressed individuals with the upper half of their faces covered, and banners of the Imperium displayed over the seats. Their appearances reminded him of his dreams and spirits flitting in the dark.

He imagined that at this moment the dinner hall wasn't a hall at all but a stage and they were the centerfolds.

"Disturbing." Yasu muttered under his breath beside him.

Evune took a glance at Yasu's hunched shoulders and then back at the others. Keela seemed about as disturbed by this as Yasu but Gheeran's attention was utterly rapt by the Archon's voice. The woman in the porcelain mask on the other hand had begun eating with her face pointing away from them. He still couldn't see her face. He took another sweep of the hall, twisting his head around the room, but he couldn't find out where the fifth person was.

" We have fought these Ox-Man beasts for centuries now as they gain more and more followers, some even in our southern neighbors."

The people in the stands stomped their feet and booed loudly.

A grin stretched across the Archon's face. "As you all know, Funalis is a day we give respect and honor to the dead. The Consort and I decided that the first trial will be one of the greatest. Our people should be avenged and as such, these chosen members  
of the Hole will be in one of the greatest of all trials. To root our a betrayer." The walls flickered back into stone and the Archon stepped away from the table. The sudden silence brought back the anxiety he first felt when arriving.

"This will be no easy task. And although teaming groups and pairs are allowed, the reward for working alone will be much greater. Furthermore," the Archon paused. "This traitor needs to be brought back alive."

Yasu stood up, rather brazenly, and said, "What's the reward?"

"It will vary."

Yasu crossed his arms but sat back down without another word. It seemed even Yasu had enough sense not to talk back to the Archon.

 _Not me. I had to be stupid._

Gheeran spoke, her voice willowy and softer than it was earlier, "How will we find him?"

Davan walked forward this time. His armored steps hitting against the stone floors. He cleared his throat and said, "We have found three camps recently with the littered bodies of those who have been drained of blood. We have also—

Yasu broke in. "Wait, we're searching for a blood mage?"

Consort Elvia stood up. "Is that a problem, Qunari? You should be thankful we've allowed you any sort of levity."

Yasu didn't look anything like any sort of Qunari Evune had ever seen. And Qunari didn't interbreed as far as he knew.

Yasu unfurled his teeth and with a stiff bow, he apologized. "I did not mean—

"But you did."

Yasu breathed out, "My apologies."

"Apology granted."

Yasu took his seat back at the table and made no other move to speak out or speak to anyone else.

Davan began to speak again, "As I was saying, the deserter has important information of an object of great importance to us. He is one of the few people who can decipher the messages to solve the puzzle to this object. We _need_ him alive. Everyone will get a map and the destinations marked will have the spots he has been seen by or left proof of his occupancy. But, for now, enjoy your meal. You will have long days ahead of you."

Davan made no motion or recognition of Evune as he sat in an empty seat at the table. Guilt sprouted in his chest. Had Davan been trying to protect him from this? He hadn't even known Evune. He had no reason to. But—

 _No._ He shook his head.

Davan was also the one who killed Carin.

 _"The one who betrayed us?"_ A voice whispered in his head, but it was no one else's voice but his own. He and Carin had grown up together. He was there the day her magic manifested and all the things popped up as a result. She was there when he had his strongest doubts.

She was his best friend.

And this mage convinced her to betray their village.

He would find this mage. He swore it.

Magic was much more than healing draughts, toxins, grenades, and so much more than he had ever imagined. Davan's soldiers led them out the hall and out of this tall tower. The tower held itself up with hundreds of columns only leading up and out of a building he had never seen before in Seheron. Somehow, they had transported him out from Ath Velanis to the next in a blink of an eye. They were now in the lower east coasts of Seheron—Tevinter territory.

His parents had told him of this place where everything buzzed and the humidity made the air thick enough to choke as you breathed it. The thick leaves of the trees slumped down to the floor and it was nearly impossible to see far distances with them blocking out most sunlight.

This place was what his parents called the Land of Manvheraan where a destroyed temple of Dirthamen stood. It's said that Fen'harel left a water beast in his stead after destroying the Pantheon to prevent others from taking the mantle. The temples were one of the few doors to a god's home in the Pantheon.

His people knew not to come here.

The Archon and his consort had left earlier with a large troop of soldiers, while Davan and only a few footmen handed out maps to each of them. The fifth one of the group appeared out from the corners and Evune wondered how he had never noticed him. A Dalish in the middle of Seheron was about as obvious as a Qunari standing between dwarves.

"Who is that?" Evune whispered and pointed to the Dalish.

Yasu looked around and then his brows furrowed. "Never seen him before. He must've been in one of the upper domes."

"Listen up!"

They all turned to Davan as he took off his helmet and handed it to one of the foot soldiers. He pulled out a handful of scrolls and began passing them around.

"These maps will be your lifeline. I have marked the camps my soldiers will meet you at. Every three days, we will have a camp for you all to rest in safety, eat, and carry on information of your progress. For all the days in-between, you're on your own."

The footmen soldiers pulled out a chest from behind them and broke open the lock. Within the chest were bottles and carrying sacks. The footmen began handing these out as well.

"These bottles will light up if the water you are drinking is infected or poisoned. The carrying sacks are self-explanatory. Any questions?" Davan finished. He looked around the group as no one said a word. "I suggest that you all work together for at least the first few days and to check out the nearest camp for clues."

"Question," the Porcelain Mask woman spoke. Her voice raspy. "How are we to find someone that the great Templars are unable to track?"

Davan grinned. "Good question. Chances are that you won't, but each and every clue will be important to our investigation. Winning this competition will appear in many ways."

"This trial is about more than finding the blood mage, isn't it?" Yasu asked.

"Yes."

Everyone shifted at that. Evune was glad to know he wasn't the only one who was lost.

As everyone broke apart and began to plan, Keela began marking her map, the Porcelain Mask woman had already disappeared, as did Gheeran, while Yasu confronted the Dalish elf.

It was the best time for him to speak to Davan. "Knight-Captain."

"Yes." The man was seemingly distracted by a long missive.

Evune shoved down the guilt that had already begun to grow and any anger he felt at being ignored. "I'm sorry."

Davan looked up. "There is nothing to be sorry for."

"Yes, there is." Evune exhaled. "I should've been quiet. I could've seen my parents, perhaps I would've been able to sneak out. I had a chance and I ruined it."

Davan brushed him off. "You're a child. It's what they do."

"I'm not a child." Evune pressed. "I'm the last of the People. And—and, in that, actually, I need your help."

"Of course you do." Davan tilted his head. "I find it convenient that my brother feels properly admonished and requested that I help you. He must know how Elvia hates you."

"I may not have been the only one reacting in haste. Elvia's hatred of me is confusing. We've never met, but," Evune cleared his throat at Davan's scrutinizing stare. "what I need to know is if my father is safe. I need regular updates on my mother."

Davan sighed. "You ask a lot of me."

"I only ask because there are few people to trust."

"So you choose me?" Davan replied incredulously. "The Knight-Captain."

"The Knight-Captain who would rather protect all his men than lead them headlong into death." Evune answered. "Of course."

Davan sniffed. "If we speak again, I will let you know." Davan began walking away before taking one turned back step. "Vitae benefaria."

The footmen soldiers and Davan walked back to the tower but it was not before a quick nod between Davan and the extra member, the Vallaslin-wearing elf. Perhaps it was in distant, polite acknowledgment?

The smell of bristlewood and dew flew in the air as a soft wind came through. To his right, where Keela once stood, there were only trees. A hand tapped his shoulder and Evune reeled back. Yasu raised a hand in surrender. "Look, guess who I've added to our team." Beside Yasu stood the other elf with green Vallaslin covering his skin from head to toe. The other elf was tanned and had the thin, straight hair of the Dalish far south. Evune wondered how he came to be so far north.

"Sylaise, right?" Evune asked.

The other elf only nodded.

Yasu added, "Yeah, I don't think he's much of a talker. His name's Arnarel but I couldn't get much else out of him."

"I'm sure you'll talk enough for the both of us."

Yasu quirked a grin.

Evune pulled out the map and looked at the spots marked. They hadn't added Kellis' camp to the locations but, since it didn't match up with the other spots, he wasn't too surprised. The blood mage must have only gone there to kill their hunters. It was a sickening thought. "Any ideas where we should go first?"

Yasu snapped out his map. "The closest place is a camp on top of a waterfall. Is it just me, or does that sound like a bad idea?"

"I've heard worse." Evune added.

"Worse like joining a place called the Hole."

Yasu and Evune turned to Arnarel.

Arnarel blinked. "A joke."

Evune cracked a smile.


	5. Chapter 5

His mother told him never to fear magic. Magic ran in their veins, spun in their hearts like a fishery net, whether they commanded it or not. His father told him to be wary of magic—the draw of it could leave you in awe or in pain but it could never be ignored. But, in all his short life, he never truly knew magic. He saw it heal, poison, burn, and protect but he had never seen it used purely without any other reason than for desire. He should've known that Tevinter was the place magic, carrying such great purpose, would be used . . . for bathing in bubbles.

This was the scene they walked into with bubbles refracting the light of the sun in its pink-tinted transparency and bouncing in the air. The three of them took soft steps towards the camp but Gheeran, sitting in a bathing spring as steam flew in the air, sat relaxed in poise. The closer they walked to the camp a wave of cool air flushed over them. She wore a cloth mask over her eyes and once they reached the spring they could see a ward circling the spring. A large pile of rocks blocked off the spring into the waterfall but from their distance they could see the waterfall was a long ways down. Any false step and that was the end.

"Gheeran," Yasu said, with a grin on his face, "You're a genius, you know that?"

Arnarel snorted.

Without uncovering her eyes, Gheeran replied, "Yasu, not a pleasure to see you again. Couldn't you and your friends have gone to some other camp."

"This is the nearest." Evune started. At a glance, the camp was small and empty. Two huts stood in the camp as perfect mirrors of the other. No damage on their roofs or weathering down of their wood. The huts still smelled of mint and fresh bark. In the center of the small camp was an old fire pit but even the pit was clear of cinders. It was only a deep hole with wood and a few stones. There was no sign that anyone else had ever been here. He crossed his arms. "Found anything?"

"You're assuming I would tell you if I did."

When Gheeran shifted to the left, he could see dark spots, purpled discoloration on her arm. He pointed it out. "I'm assuming those bruises on your right shoulder, arm, and wrist aren't only for appearances."

Gheeran hmphed. "I've already checked everywhere. There's nothing here. Not even a drop of blood. Rather boring actually."

She made no effort to hide the fact that she wasn't going to answer that question.

"Do you need salve?"

Gheeran lifted the cloth and peeked under it. "I've been practicing magic since I was three."

Evune blinked. "I'm only—

"I was trained, went through the Harrowing, and was nominated for one of the youngest junior enchanters-in-training in history." Gheeran continued to say as she stepped out of the bath and towel whipped up from its folded spot to wrap around her body, covering it up.

Evune closed his mouth.

"But, I was never very good at healing." Gheeran strode past him and waved her hand over a tree where her bag, hanging from a branch, appeared. She unhooked it, pulled out a twisted ball of herbs and a small bottle of liquid, and tossed it to Evune. "Make the salve."

Evune took the herbs and began organizing them. And when Gheeran moved into one of the huts, Yasu and Arnarel snuck up behind him.

"You are not her servant." Arnarel said. His voice had an icy tone as if Evune was somehow making _him_ look bad.

Yasu nodded firmly. He crossed his arms and leaned forward to speak lowly. "She's used to being catered to."

"I don't think so."

Yasu added. "She's a Tevinter mage in training."

"I don't _believe_ that."

"You don't know that."

Evune tossed him a look and continued separating herbs. _Elfroot . . .Spindleweed. . . Distillation Agent. . ._

"Gheeran," Evune started to say.

She pushed open the window of the hut as she rubbed the towel through her hair. "What?"

"Are these _your_ healing herbs?"

"I got them from a friend of mine."

"Your friend," Evune hesitated. He pulled out a root with red bulbs attached. "They gave you Deathroot by accident."

Gheeran slammed the hut window shutters closed.

"Deathroot is like, what, an herbal Gaatlok?" Yasu asked. He picked up the root and sniffed it.

"No."

Gheeran appeared beside them and huffed. She snatched the root out from Yasu's hand. Her hands clenched the roots tightly before throwing it on the ground and stomping over it repeatedly until sweat dripped from her forehead. She unfurled her teeth and hissed. "Andraste's tits. It cost me triple to buy these stupid things than the other."

Yasu shared a look with Arnarel but the cursing went right over Evune's head. Yasu rubbed his nose. "You're not Tevinter. Are you?"

"Oh, you've finally learned cleverness." Gheeran whipped out her hand, destroying the wards completely. The humid fell over them like wind.

But when Gheeran made the motion to leave, Evune's hand blocked her from leaving as he pulled out a half-ripped leaf with a yellow-green paste stuffed inside it. He dropped it in her hand. "Your salve. Put it on every few hours until the next sunset. I carry elfroot in my shoulder packs.""

Gheeran lifted her free hand and covered her half-smile. "A Fog Warrior that knows Herbalism. Good to know." She shook her head. "I found some strange markings in the huts. They're not anything I've ever seen before. Maybe you three can decipher it." With those parting words, Gheeran pulled up her bag and disappeared through the thick foliage of the forest. The splashing of the waterfall and the murmuring water hitting rocks from the hot spring to the fall seemed to gain in volume at the silence.

The huts were barely large enough to fit a desk, the bed, and a table. The bed had no padding or anything else really other than the frame. The table had dried drippings of red and crinkled papers with smeared ink atop it. But the desk was a glitterdust mine in and of itself. There was half-way melted candles, an engraved dagger with blood dried on its edges, and a painting of a human noble above it. In the corner of the room, though, was a perfectly ordinary bow and two arrows. If he only looked at the room by the corner with the bow in it, the hut seemed perfectly normal.

"How did you know? I dealt with her for _days_ and I never saw anything else, but-

Evune sighed and crossed his arms. "I could smell the elfroot in the springs. She was trying to heal old bruises. Wherever she was at before, if I had to guess, didn't take  
kindly to her."

"It could've been anything." Arnarel said.

"Where you see arrogance, I see someone hiding themselves to keep safe. I'm doing it. You're doing it. Yasu is doing it. I understand." Evune said as he checked the table for dust and the smell of any herbs or toxins. The table was scrubbed clean. He replied to the fast-talking elf, "Arguing with her when those simple bruises and cuts can quickly turn into infection would be me trying to prove a point when I have nothing to prove. And, isn't it better for all of us if she's well?"

Yasu reared back like an animal kicked. Evune's words had set him off. "Now you sound like those Qunari. Did your clan teach you anything else? They're all about self-righteous honor too until you fail. I can't see Fog Warriors being any different."

Evune bit back a retort. He wanted to stand up for his clan but his forced-upon "destiny" left no room for failure. Still, Yasu was called a Qunari earlier but Evune didn't prod him about it. "Whether you're right or wrong, most of my clan is dead. I'll respect their words, if you don't mind."

Yasu huffed. He tilted one of the unlit candles on its side until it fell over and rolled onto the floor with a smack. "Yeah, my friends too. Probably this weirdo's too." He tossed a pointed thumb at Arnarel who had already begun scrutinizing the dagger and the markings below the desk. "Elves get the short end of the stick every time."

"What about the others?" Evune changed the subject and was glad to see Yasu take a deep breath, calming down.

Yasu tossed his head back and said carefully, "Keela's family was near at the bottom of the barrel. She asked to be sent in for the money they offered her family. Gheeran is from southern Thedas but not Orlesian. She doesn't have the accent. And Marcella? No one knows a thing about her."

Evune crouched to the wooden flooring wiping the dust off the markings below the desk. They were unlike the wards of Gheeran. The lines were choppy, dotted sparkles of a broken silver circle. Inside of this circle sat curved drawings that appeared more like knives and sharp edges stabbing into more circles.

"They have to be lying." Yasu said. His voice distant, thoughtful. "There's no way all of us can win. There would be no point."

Evune crossed his arms and tapped a nervous finger against it. "That's the thing. There is no point. They want something from us. Not each of us. All of us. I don't think they care how they get it until it's gotten."

"The only thing I can think of isn't tangible."

Evune agreed. It seemed like they wanted their loyalty. Loyalty couldn't do much for someone who was already loyalty to one side over the other. This gave him doubt to the Archon's promises.

Arnarel knocked his knuckles against the flooring.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

 _Thunk._

Arnarel scratched against the hollow sounding wood and snapped the piece off. Evune picked up one of the larger pieces and lined it up to the silvery marked etchings. He recognized the markings. "This looks like elvish but not anything I've ever seen. It could be older or Dalish."

Arnarel gave him a side-look. "The Dalish are not foreign to Elvhen."

"That's not what I—

Arnarel had already begun ignoring him again and focus on digging whatever laid beneath the loose floorboard.

Yasu scooted in beside them and whispered, "I think I'm looking more and more likable than you."

"I only meant—

Arnarel cut in. "There's a journal in here."

Arnarel dug his hand dip into the ground underneath the floorboard and pulled out a sewn stack of papers. But as he pulled out the stack of papers a phylactery fell out and Arnarel lunged to catch it. It slipped through his fingers, falling between the cracks and the flask filled with a thick red liquid shattered to the floor.

"We need to leave." Arnarel rushed out while pulling out the stack of papers under his arms and left the hut.

They reached the door when the ground beneath them shuddered. The trees swayed back and forth. The other hut had started to fall apart and collapse within itself when a loud splash sounded behind them.

Water rained down on them and they swiveled around to find a massive scaly water beast. Its teeth razor sharp and a forked tongue flickering in and out, tasting the air. The beast had no arms and contorted in the air like a snake fish. Evune ran for the nearest tree and ducked behind it with the other two following close behind. The beast's roar as it threw its body down on the hut they were just standing in and crushed it to pieces.

Yasu shouted. "There goes the proof!"

"We have the journal. All we have to do is leave!" Evune shouted back as the beast continued to throw its body and splash pounds of water pouring down them as if it were a thunderstorm. The beast stretched itself outwards and encircled the small area. Dust and leaves swept around them like a tornado with the water spinning in the center like a hurricane.

"Vashedan, we need a plan. Now."

Evune peeked around the tree searching for anything helpful when his eyes caught it. _The bow._

The bow from the hut had somehow survived the crushing weight of the beast and had been knocked next to the former hotspring that was now full of crushed rocks. "I'm going to distract it."

Yasu argued, "Kid, that's a stupid—

Evune jumped from behind the tree and dived towards the bow and the stray arrow stuck to it, snatching it up, rolling on his side, and then slid to the nearest tree. The water beast roared once again, smacking a wave of water into the air. The water blinded Evune and his ears filled with water. His hearing warbled in and out. He couldn't even stand straight, but he stretched the string of the bow and slowed his breathing. The bow was larger than the one he owned and the arrow had a crack in its side.

He had one chance to do it right.

 _This is your chance. Prove them wrong. You are the legacy. The Elvhen live through you._ The words whispered in his ear. A bittersweet taste of justice and vindication nipped at his heart. But instead of lightening it, it felt burdened. His arrogance and his pride is what brought him here.

* * *

He loosened the hold on the bow and arrow altogether. Locking the opening of the bow around his shoulders, Evune slammed the arrow into the tree and broke it in half. He peered around the tree again and found the pile of Deathroots as one of the few untouched spots in the camp. He moved from tree to tree to tree until he reached the nearest one and snatched up the Deathroot. He ripped the leaves to shreds and with the water already damping it, made a rough thick paste. He smeared it on the edge of the arrowhead and turned back to the beast. He had climbed up mountains, hills, and trees all his life. Crawling up a water beast with scales like cliff ridges would be easy.

 _Easier than dying in a puddle of blood._

He ignored the last vestiges of doubt and sped to the body of the beast. He kept the Deathroot paste in one hand and as he clawed up the beast, he left handprints of the poison on its skin. The beast lurched left and right to shake Evune off but his hold was tight against the rough body. His heartbeat pounded in his chest and he started to feel hazy, dizzy with adrenaline and fear as it licked up his insides with a rough tongue.

When he reached the space between the neck and the head, Evune yanked up the arrow head and its wooden stub and stabbed it deep between its bone. The beast swung side to side, screeching as its body wildly splashed the water. Evune's hold was no match against the wet scaly skin of the beast and the strength of its movement. The stub of wood cut across Evune's stomach as he was tossed high in the air and over the waterfall.

The drop over the waterfall was never-ending. For a few seconds, he wondered when he would hit ground and die. He opened his eyes against the force of the air pushing it close and dived deep into the water, crashing through the surface. His body plummeted deeper and deeper into the water. The air bubbles filled up around him as he closed his mouth. He swam upward and splashed out the water, coughing and spitting out the bit that had fallen in. He flopped over on the wet grass and looked up at the sky.

It wasn't even sunset yet.

He laughed to himself and flopped over onto land. He yanked down a leaf and ripped it until it would do for a quick bandage across his stomach. The distance from the waterfall to the drop would take half a day's walk to go around and he needed to find his way back as soon as possible. Waiting for Arnarel and Yasu to appear didn't sit well with him and he wasn't sure it was the fastest way to find them either.

With clothing soaked and picking branches out of his hair, he twisted a finger through his braid. He should've learned how to braid on his own. There was no actual promise that the Archon would keep his mother safe or that Davan would find his father, who was in all likeliness dead.

There was no promise at all. He needed to find this mage.

As the sun started to fall and the humidity thinned, Evune found himself more than exhausted. The weight of the clothing stuck to his skin. The chill of a suddenly un-humid night covered his skin. He felt eyes on the back of his neck.

He turned around.

"I saw you." The Porcelain Mask woman walked out from between the trees. She held her hands to the front of her black cloak. "It's an amazing feat to kill a beast such as that."

Evune breathed heavily. It took him a moment to catch his breath still. Even longer to catch his thoughts. "I try."

"Try? Oh, that was more than trying. It's almost like you're aiming to _win_." The woman swept forward with a shroud of miasma around her hand as she lifted it to his face. "You can't gain their respect. There are people, no matter how hard they try, they will never garner the respect of their peers."

"It sounds like you're coming into this thinking everyone _wants_ to win." Evune returned. "I'll be happy with mine and my clan's life. Thank you very much."

"Perhaps you thought by befriending the Archon's brother and catching the interest of the Archon that you would win." The tip of her finger tapped against his scar and he grasped up, clutching the sudden burning sensation stretching across his cheek. He wondered if all Tevinter magic existed to do was inflict pain and exert power—and in the rare occasions, make bubbles. The Imperium would be a cruel place to live if that was the case.

Evune gritted his teeth and retorted, "If you want to win, then win but don't get angry at me for trying to survive."

The woman's eyes jumped from the trees beside them back to his face. A branch snapped nearby.

"I don't know what it is." The miasma around her fingers evaporated into the air and she pressed a cold finger to his scar. She stared into his eyes deep enough that he could see his own reflection in her eyes. "But something about you aggravates me."

"Marci!" Gheeran's voice called out. "We're running out of deathroot!"

Evune swiveled around and scoffed, "I don't know what you get out of if killing me or if you got me mixed up with some other elf—

"There's no other elf." Marcella snapped and her eyes tightened before she pulled away and disappeared into the trees. Just as she disappeared, an explosion of leaves burst out and Yasu flew out from the fallen pieces of plants. Evune was going to have to tread lightly now that he had found the attention of someone willing to kill him.

"I was a hundred and ten percent sure you were dead, kid." Yasu reached over and shook Evune's shoulders.

Evune pulled out from Yasu's hold. "I shouldn't have trusted her. She almost got us killed."

Yasu made a wordless stare as if to ask him how he knew. "The journal was only pages ripped out a children's book." Arnarel came out from behind Yasu and continued. "She lied."

"I know." Evune wiped a hand against his face and closed his eyes. "Any other ideas?"

"The temple."

Yasu and Evune turned to Arnarel.

Arnarel repeated. "The Temple of Dirthamen."

Evune shook his head. "If those pages were a lie, so was everything in the hut. It was a trick, even the markings under the desk."

"I trust my instincts." Arnarel said. His eyes searching before he turned away.

Evune imagined that this too was a test that he somehow failed and he was quickly getting frustrated with their Vallaslin-ed traveling companion.

"Do we really think he'll be that obvious? The god of the dead. On Funalis." Yasu said speculatively.

"Dirthamen is the god of family and loyalty, his brother is," Evune stopped when Yasu gave him a blank expression. He continued on with a hand on his temple, "Never mind, it'll still have spirits. It's a good place to use dead . . . things."

Yasu groaned. "I really hate magic sometimes. I wish we could just not fight or take a nap. A good nap sounds great."

"Sleeping is for the lazy." Arnarel tossed back.

Yasu groaned loudly before following Arnarel's lead. Evune followed without another word but secretely he agreed.

* * *

It was a day's walk to get to the temple. In the meantime, it was enough time for him to learn there were three things that seemed off about his companions. Arnarel knew his way around here as if by heart. Evune surmised he must've been here more than a few times, but there were no Dalish clans near here as far as he had ever known. None ever ventured far enough to even live in Seheron. Then there was Yasu, a master of avoidance. In their small water and food breaks taken along the creeks and shade of trees, he dodged Evune's questions with ease. Most of them concerned the Qunari and how he got here. Of course Evune wanted to ask the obvious question but he needed _one_ ally in the Hole.

"Why are you laughing?" Yasu said questioningly.

Evune cleared his throat, embarrassed, "I made a joke about the Hole."

"Oh," Yasu brightened. "I can do this too. The Archon seems to shove a lot of us in the Hole. You think he has thing for multiples."

Yasu and Evune snickered.

"The Hole was pretty drafty on the way in."

"Not a lot of space to see in the Hole but—"

Evune finished in a pitch of laughter, "It's because everything gets sucked in."

Arnarel spun around. "Are the two of you done?" He hissed.

Evune shrugged and tossed a sheepish look. "It's not like we'll know if we're going to be attacked. Mages just poof."

"Poof." Yasu repeated.

"The temple should be here." Arnarel said. He walked around and placed his hand against a tree before slamming his fist in it. "If you hadn't noticed, we've been walking around in circles." He slammed his fist again. "We're lost."

There was one other thing he had to make note of. It was the fact that none of them were mages and one of them should've had the sense to take at least _one_ of the mages along. Mages can sniff another's magic, so when you put three elves together; a failed hunter, a smart-ass un-elf educated elf, and a practically mute Dalish, none of which are mages, well, what you get is this.

Although when choosing between Gheeran and Marcella, there wasn't much of a choice.

"I thought the creek looked familiar." Yasu said. "And that tree where I left some bread, but I thought it was a coincidence."

Arnarel hissed. "Take this seriously."

"You're number one in the Hole." Yasu said. "What do you have to worry about?"

Arnarel huffed and Evune could see his face flushed with frustration. This was the most either of them had heard Arnarel speak in hours. And Evune was a little frustrated himself. He hadn't even noticed.

"How did you get to be number one?" Evune asked, his curiosity edging on the tip of his tongue. He didn't need to be number one but if he was liked by Elvia that was a skill he may need in the future.

"My clan helped them find the map to the weapon they're seeking. But, I am now the only survivor."

They reached an open area of grass, the one right before the creek, that was largely and strangely empty for an island where the wild plants and insects ran rampant.

Evune said, "This area doesn't make sense."

"Nothing could be large enough to do this," Yasu pointed out, "right?"

"No one has traversed the whole of Seheron and survived without help." Evune replied. He walked forward. "There wouldn't be a naturally existing open area."

He raised an eye up to the sky. The sun was lowering into sunset and the western sky splashed of purple, white, and blue. His dream flashed behind his eyes as the colors filled up the entire sky. "No tablets, tombstones, or—

"No." Arnarel cut in.

Evune tossed an impatient look. "Arnarel—

"I know." Arnarel answered. "I know."

"Well, I don't. Share it with me." Yasu said.

"There are stories that say the gods used to hide their temples in plain sight like an invisible blanket."

Yasu's gaze jumped from Arnarel to Evune. Evune pressed a hand against his temple and sighed. "If we find this temple, its wards will disappear. Everyone will be able to see it. And. . .it will be another thing to be collected and hidden away as a part of Thedas' unspeakable history."

"We don't have a choice though, guys, listen, I get the elves are all—

"Yasu," Evune paused, "We know our choices but we are allowed a second to reflect."

"The sunset is distorted here." Arnarel said before walking ahead.

Yasu and Arnarel looked up at the sky. The sky in all its watercolor glory looked perfectly ordinary until it met in the middle. The middle of the sky stretched oddly and the colors distorted, bending the refracted light.

Evune raised his hand and pressed it in the air far below the distorted line of color in the sky. His hand hit solid stone. The rough granules of rock grazed his fingers and he was relieved. Somehow, his dream had helped him come to this realization He moved his hand around the stone until finally he found a cold, metal object. He pushed the handle and it creaked open, pulling Evune in. Instead of hitting floor, there was a staircase and he slid down several steps before catching himself, bruising his elbow in the process.

He could hear Yasu and Arnarel's voices in the distance.

 _The barrier blocks out noise too. Great._

He made the motion to go back up but froze when grey green smoke floated in the air.

 _"You lost your village, your best friend. . .your father, and now, maybe your mother too. Don't you deserve to win? Don't you?"_ The voice spoke to him. Evune bared down on the voice and breathed, weathering through the barrage of words. Carin had told him about these.

This was the voice of a demon.

 _"Yes. . . come down to the lower floor. Find your prize. I've been waiting. . . so. . . long."_ The voice said again. It whispered in his ear.

 _This isn't natural._

 _"Is it ever, child? I'm the voice of reason you've ignored for too long."_ The voice laughed in his head. _"Every day they told you, 'Da'len, did you even try?'"_

"I was."

 _"Of course you were, but what did they say, 'What kind of elf can't hunt?'"_

"It's true."

It was not by natural circumstance at all that his feet walked down the shadowed staircase as the voice spoke. And its words, oh, the voice spoke such sweet words that were a soothing balm to a wound Evune had allowed to fester.

 _"But you were! You were more than good enough. An elf is more than a hunter. You're a good person. You tried. You defeated a water beast all on your own."_

"I did." Evune shook his head. "I did. I always did."

 _"Not even Carin tried as hard as you. And where is she now?"_

 _Dead._

 _"Accept it. The weak, the failures, they're the ones who die, but us? The survivors? We live on forever. That destiny, it's always what you wanted isn't it? I can help you."_

Evune shuddered. "No. No, I can't."

 _"Why not, da'len?"_ The voice sung in his ear.

"Stop! Don't call me that!" Evune boxed his ears. "Leave me alone!"

His foot hit the stone floor and a green light emanated in front of him. It was a statue of Vhenadahl—the tree of the People. In front of it, a person walked out from the light, its eyes glowing blue as a voice unnatural spoke through it with its face and body hidden under a robe. The voice laughed as a malformed creature fell from the light behind the person—its eyes a pitless gaze and its hands like squirming claws. The creature had no legs as it slithered forward.

"What are the chances?" It said, "That a child of the Oldest Line would find me. Perhaps it is providence that the other elf of Sylaise, that _she_ did not find me."

The creature tossed out its hand and the person, much like a puppet being pulled by strings, raised its staff. Electricity spit from the staff and Evune barely rolled out from its strike. The creature screeched a high-pitched sound as it puffed out and flame danced along its skin. It embodied the very idea of flame and fire as its heat filled the room. The floor cracked into openings spewing fire, lava, and steam constricting the air.

He crossed his arms as if to block the wave of smoke but it threw him across the room and right into the wall. Illuminated by fire and electricity, the entirety of the room was a circular prison. There were no windows and no doors and the only way out was through the stairs.

He was trapped.

He covered his mouth as the smog snuck its way into his lungs. Sweat piled up along his skin and the room tilted on its side.

 _"How I will love to take such a young, angry body of the People. The beauty of rage is all-consuming!"_

More electricity fell from the staff, lighting the room, bringing attention to the Vhenadahl and the table beside it. The table was no ordinary table. There were bloodied fingers and toes in a bowl upon it with blood dripping out from its place by the Vhenadahl statue. A small dagger sat underneath coated in dried blood. This wasn't a temple but an altar of sacrifice.

Evune rolled again and his back smacked into the stone wall. The creature was playing with him. Why?

The creature roared and spewed fire blocking off the staircase and anyone else from reaching the bottom flooring. What little hope he had of Yasu and Arnarel appearing to help him evaporated like the blood the demon continued to slowly drain dry. The demon whipped out a leash of fire and smacked it into the stone searing an opening in the wall, dust flew into the air as rock fell to the ground. Evune lunged through the dust, sliding to snatch up the dagger, and smack into the nearest wall. He grappled the floor and pushed himself across the room. He raised a pained hand to his left shoulder where the whip made of fire cut his skin. The demon, as if soothed by his wound, merely swayed back and forth. The mage beneath the cloak lifted its hood uncovering the face of an elven man.

His skin, pale and sickly, the thin lines of Vallaslin were hard to see under his short mop of black hair. The man was disconcertingly ordinary when regarding him to the present situation. His glowing eyes dampened to a natural brown as he spoke, "Why have you followed me?"

Evune coughed harshly. He lifted up his fists with the dagger clutched in one. "The Tevinters are looking for a blood mage."

"I don't wish to kill you but if you don't leave. I will have to."

"I can't do that."

The man paused. "Wouldn't you like your life? It would be a waste for one of the Oldest Line—

"Stop," Evune hissed, "You murdered my villagers, my family, and then convinced my friend to betray her people. You—there's no way you're getting out of Seheron alive. If not them, the Qunari will find you. If not the Qunari, this demon will consume you."

"Do you think you found me by accident? You naïve child." His eyes flashed. "Do you really think you found the Altar of Dirthamen by accident? As we speak, my brother has killed your friend and strung him up to drain him dry."

 _. . .Betrayed again, da'len? Quickly becoming a common story for you. . ._

Evune pressed a hand against his ringing ear. "Tell your demon to shut up."

The man smiled a shark-like grin. "The demon only speaks to those with an unfed rage. Those who itch to get their anger across. Demons will find you, especially, a rare delicacy. Your family once danced and ate with demons. Did they not tell you?"

"Shut up!" He raced forward to slice the monster, claw his eyes out if he could, but was thrown back into the wall once again. His arms, now more bruised and bleeding, trembled as he pushed himself up. He clutched his stomach and pulled his hand away to find it covered in blood. He had forgotten about his wound with the water beast. His knees smacked to the ground and Evune spit at the floor before lunging at the demon again. He whipped his arms from side to side, watching as the demon dodged. The dagger flicked along his wrist and he twisted around for one harsh stab only to be thrown into the wall once more. The deep chuckle of the creature echoed in the tower mocking him.

The world shifted into sounds that entered one of his ears but never both. The face of the blood mage and the form of the demon swirled into technicolor lights that smeared in front of him like a painting.

His father loved to paint. He painted animals for the most part, but, sometimes, he painted the places he saw as a boy. He painted Antiva with beautiful redwood arches and canopies. He painted herds of halla, whom Evune had only ever seen as statues or in his father's paintings. Other days, his father painted his grandparents. His looks greatly descending from his grandmother's side.

Evune struggled to sit up and merely pushed himself over onto his hip. He shook his head trying to knock out the ringing. His fingers struggled to tighten against the dagger as footsteps ran down the staircase. He heard voices, the muffled sound of Davan's shouting. The world struck his ear in buzzes. His neck too weak to hold his head when he heard the sharp sound of metal pulled out its scabbard. He watched Davan stand in front him as his blood poured from his fingers, his side, and his mouth and straight into the mage's body and its eyes glowed once again.

Sounds fell to silence. Evune could only hear his heartbeat pounding in his chest like a song. He blinked once. The demon grew larger and its fire spun ever faster. He blinked twice. The mage's eyes glowed so bright it watered his eyes. The third time he blinked the demon grappled in the air as if reaching to the sky as the mage burned in an inferno of blue fire. The demon disappeared.

And then, he saw no more.


	6. Chapter 6

_4th day of Matrinalis_

The Archon lied.

He listened to Davan's explanation, his apologies but it meshed into a mess of words and ideas that didn't make sense. Things that would _never_ make sense. Perhaps it made sense in the Imperium but not here, not to an elf.

"You failed the trial." The camp was much like the one Davan had when he was posted near Evune's village. There were tents for each of them and within each tent enough room for a comfortable bed, a small table, and a chair—the bare essentials. There were footmen soldiers guarding the camp and the surrounding area from any random creatures or Qunari. But, Davan's tent, unlike the one he had before, was much larger. The inside was decorated with wooden posts and stone figurines of dragons and gurguts as if a private collection of rare creatures. The scent of clean water and freshness filled up the room too as if he had recently bathed in this very space. To separate rooms there were flaps like dividers to create rooms and the appearance of space, but, much like the people of Tevinter, it led you into a false understanding. The dividers were for appearances only. The whole tent might as well had been one large room.

In the middle of the tent sat a rectangular wide table with a map of plans on it in a language Evune gathered to be Tevene with several marking etched in. Davan stood in front of the table and in front of Evune. He apologized again. "My brother wanted the mage alive. Without the mage, we've lost the chance to find the object. And so—

Evune pressed his hand against his forehead. He had to steady his breathing as his heart quickened. "How do I save my mother? My village? There has to be a way. None of this is even my fault." He slammed a fist into the table.

"After defeating the water beast," Davan said hesitantly. He leaned on his side and winced. His injury from the fight with the demon was still healing. "There's enough belief in that you killed the mage too."

"Without magic." Evune added.

"Magic is not a necessity. Even Tevinters know that, so," Davan quirked a brow. "the surprise isn't that it turned to ash right after but rather that the demon turned on the host. It killed itself which goes against everything we know about demons."

"Maybe you're all wrong." Evune raised an unerring eye. "You're all definitely wrong about one thing. It didn't turn on the mage. It lit on fire."

"I know." To Evune's surprise, Davan nodded. "I was there."

"Then why—

Davan leaned over the table and lowered his voice. "Demons _don't_ turn on their host _or_ suddenly turn into flames especially after stealing the blood of an enemy. Blood magic is strengthened by blood not destroyed. And to do either of those things. . . this isn't a simple miscalculation. Something not known to ever happen in the thousands and thousands of years in the Imperium happened. For that, they will keep you alive for centuries to analyze every piece of your body from your eyeballs, to your ears, your fingers, your nails, your skin, your blood, and then keep you as a specimen when the research is done."

Evune swallowed harshly.

"And when the research is done, they will parade you around as your lungs, your heart, and your mind gasp to finally let that final breath come. But they won't. It never will." Davan continued. He took a deep breath and clenched his fists on the table. He shook his head. "I don't know what I saw. I don't care. But you should. You need to be careful from now on."

Evune closed his eyes and shoved down his shifting nervousness, the ball of worry and fear stuck in his stomach. "This is about more than me. My mother. The villagers."

"Your mother made me promise to keep you alive." Davan said harshly. "And I'm sure she told you the same."

Evune winced.

 _"And at all costs. . . at all costs, survive. I love you."_ He remembered. Leaning back against the table, Evune crossed his arms and sighed. "There must be something that can be done. He did speak about having a brother."

Davan cleared his throat and shifted guiltily. "Yes, that is something we're already aware of."

"The Knight-Captain means to say," Arnarel walked through the tent opening as if he had done so several times, "that I'm the brother."

He gathered that Arnarel had been listening, perhaps, he had wanted to know what happened that night where he stood only a few feet away and several feet below him. Evune always believed his first kill would leave him guilt-ridden and wracked with a hatred for war,but he was glad the mage was dead. Even after knowing he was Arnarel's brother. Evune's eyes moved from Arnarel to Davan and then back to Arnarel. "You two were working together.

"Arnarel was the only one who was familiar with both his brother before and after the demon." Davan added.

"The demon told me you were going to betray us." Evune carefully said to Arnarel.

"I've never liked shemlen. My brother would've never believed me working with them but Davan is one of the slightly better ones." Arnarel said as Davan replied with a low, "Thanks." And continued to say, "But I couldn't even if I wanted to." He stood up and showed Evune his palm. It had a brand of three stars and a fish beneath it. He closed his fist tight and then pulled it to his side.

"My family's brand." Davan's voice spoke warily. "My brother can be a soulless bastard when desperate. The brand makes the branded unable to break a vow to our family."

"Is that what my mark is?" Evune said.

Davan shook his head. "Your mark is merely tracking, so that we know where you all are at all times. A modified version of this brand."

Arnarel answered, "Originally, I was to be bait. I didn't know the demon would keep the wards untouched and find the temple—

Evune cut in. "Altar."

Arnarel glared. "The _altar_ of Dirthamen. It's not a spell my brother knew. But our First on the other hand. . . "

"Your First?"

"The Keeper is the leader of a clan." Arnarel said with his voice oozing of judgment and an upturned nose at Evune's question. "The First is the Keeper-in-training."

"The demon spoke of the other elf of Sylaise, could this be her?"

Davan tossed a look at Arnarel and Arnarel's fists tightened as if to disagree on reflex. The Vallaslin-wearing elf retorted, "It is unlikely that Deshanna survived the attack. She has not been seen since."

Before Evune could ask, Davan said, "Their clan was attacked by a High Dragon. His brother called upon a demon to save them."

"Tevinters seems not to be as," Arnarel's lips twisted, "disgusted as others with the use of blood magic. They requested my brother's help in their search in the promise that they would protect our survivors."

Evune veered on Arnarel. "If it's your plan that failed, why am I being punished?"

Arnarel gritted his teeth but said nothing.

Instead, Davan replied, "Many of his clan wanted vengeance, hated us, hated blood magic, and fought against us. Arnarel's brand is a vow he made to protect the survivors."

"I'm the only rogue element, is that it?" Evune tossed out. He crossed his arms and scoffed. "I haven't seen a group of Dalish ever around here—these survivors."

Davan threw a placating hand in front of Arnarel, who had taken a threatening step forward, and said, "An issue that is none of your concern."

Evune sniffed.

"There is one more curious thing." Arnarel asked. His eyes full of suspicion. "Why did my brother pull you in?"

"It seems even demons speculate on the color of my hair." Evune lied. "I didn't know the Dalish spoke of those things."

As if distracted by his use of Dalish, Arnarel nose turned up. "We keep the legacy of Elvhen close at heart." He gave them a stilted nod and said, "I will try to review any familiar places in the meantime."

* * *

When Arnarel left the tent, Davan's shoulders dropped out of the countenance of Templar Knight-Captain. He lifted a wary eye at his stiff but slumped shoulders. The failure, although on his shoulders, had taken a perch on his as well. It maybe have been then that he noticed that Davan had dark hair like the leaves as soon as the light escapes the forest. And that on his chin was a slight stubble—one that was not there only a few days earlier. He didn't have pale skin like Elvia or even the brownish tan of Keela or the ruddy white of his brother. It reminded him of the sun. Davan had no reason to keep his secret or to respect Arnarel's feelings. Those thoughts twisted a dagger in his chest. Something in him didn't want to compare Davan to the other Tevinters he had met, even his brother.

"I forgive you." Evune said.

"Good." Davan said distracted before turning his head around. "For what?"

"For killing Carin. I trusted her. At one point, more than anyone else." Evune admitted. "I never would've been able to kill her. I wouldv'e let her go. Our clan would've been doomed either way."

"Do not punish yourself for having mercy. Even loyalty." Davan clenched his hands. His voice deepened as he spoke darkly, "Too few people have it." He winced and rubbed at his shoulder before leaning back against his table of maps.

"Who betrayed you?" Evune said carefully. "You act as if-

Davan pursed his lips, visibly arguing with himself until he sighed. "My brother did. My mother may, we will never know now, have killed his mother in a clamor for the throne, and without proof, he along with the Magisterium executed my mother for treason. I was just a trainee for the Templars then. I trusted him to help her. I thought he would magically, as if out from thin air, save both our mothers since we were family." Davan shook his head. "He did nothing. Not even for his own mother." Davan creaked his neck, the sound of metal sliding against each other screeched, and he gave a muffled pained sigh.

"Do you have to wear your armor all the time?"

Davan blinked. "Excuse me. The armor is for protection. Of course I do."

Evune repeated. "It looks like it's hurting you. Shouldn't you wear something else when injured."

"It's for safety." Davan replied, dumbfounded.

Evune thumbed behind himself. "But you have guards outside your tent."

"Not much help in a Qunari attack." Davan replied.

"I don't think anything will really help you in a Qunari attack."

"Ouch." Davan laughed. "I don't think you've ever had to put on and off armor or you'd know the work involved."

Evune drew his gaze up to the ceiling in impatience. "It'd also be nice if the Knight-Captain didn't collapse on his watch."

"You're rather rude now that we're friendly." Davan turned around and then unclicked the clasps on the side of his armor. His hand stretched to the center of the back of his armor but his hand kept sliding past it. "If you could, unlock the trigger."

Evune tried to walk forward as nonchalant as possible. He clicked the bent back trigger of the armor and the armor loosened enough for Davan to slide it off. Underneath his armor, he wore a light blue tunic, taut against his shoulders and back, and white under leggings that were loose in comparison.

The menacing form of the Knight-Captain suddenly seemed normal, natural, and, of course, so very human. Evune's hand lightly touched the Knight-Captain's back when he turned around to face him.

"I'm sorry that was thoughtless."

Evune blinked.

Davan started to explain. "The last time I asked Arnarel to unlock it he nearly cut me in half. You're never required to help me remove my armor like a . . .a . . .servant"

"That's not why I did it." Heat flushed up his cheeks. He wasn't actually planning on saying that but he could run with it. He just didn't know how yet but he could if he had to.

 _Fenedhis._

"Oh."

Davan stepped forward and moved his hand to reach for Evune's long braid. He twisted it around his finger, his finger slowly trailing up the braid until it reached Evune's cheeks. He held a gentle hand over the scar and where Evune half-expected pain he received a gentle graze.

"I'm sorry for my brother. He isn't a good man."

"Few are." Evune shoved down any guilty feelings and returned a contrite expression. "And I've never heard someone apologize so much for someone else. It was my fault. You tried to help."

Davan pulled away and cleared his throat. "I will see you tomorrow morning before we send you all off again."

He bumped into a rushing footmen who politely nodded to him before entering Davan's tent. Evune nodded back long after the footmen had already entered the tent. He turned around and walked through the camp with the sharpest sense of loneliness he had, had in a long while.

And it followed him into his own tent even as he went to sleep.

He already missed having a friend at his side.

* * *

In the morning, there was a round table that all six of them sat at. Yasu avoided speaking to him in light of what had happened he believed Yasu thought something was wrong with him. Evune was in the mood to agree. Demons don't explode no matter how much you hope.

He teetered between healing from his injuries and keeping a close eye on the other members of the Hole. Awkwardness could not begin to describe how it felt to have her beady eyes through the mask stare him down. Keela and Arnarel were nowhere to be seen, while Gheeran was all too willing to hold a conversation with him. She was still under the pretense that he had no idea about her play in the water beast incident. He was once again stuck in the middle of a rock and a hard place.

"Fish and oats!" Gheeran said. "It's my favorite. They rarely made this in the Circle. 'Blasphemy.' the Senior Enchanters used to say about eating Tevinter food but the cook made it anyway. What do you think?"

Evune had a million of words and descriptions to say. None of which were nice. He didn't know what world would find the texture of mud to taste good until today. He didn't understand why some of the fish still had their bones and, furthermore, he didn't understand why they ate animal feed at all. Oats were for cows and chickens. Not people.

"She just asked you something." Marcella's voice cut in coldly.

"It's good." He covered his cheek and his mouth twisting in distaste. His eyes switched over to Marcella's glare and then pulled away.

Gheeran grinned. She was the only person able to coax anything other than insults from Marcella. He picked at the mixture of fish and wheat in his bowl preventing him for giving his full attention. He stirred it around trying to pick out the meat from the thick grainy paste-like gruel, however bright and fresh it appeared, that reminded him once again that he was far from home.

Gheeran repeated, "Grenades and Herbalism go well in hand, so I wouldn't be surprised if that's how you did it."

"I didn't do it." Evune answered back. His eyes looked searchingly as if trapped. "It could've been an altar trap it triggered."

"Without any spring triggers or toxin residue? Unlikely. Although, elemental magic—"

He patted his chest and felt for the placement of his mother's journal. Davan had told him that the healer tried to remove it but kept quiet on his say so. A smile made its way on his mouth that he quickly covered up with a spoonful of the bitter tasting fish and wheat gruel.

"The idea of elemental magic actually has nothing to do with actually controlling the elements. We can't change the weather or anything at all really. Small spots or large spots but spots all the same. It would take twenty mages and a pound of mana." Gheeran paused and tapped a hand against her chin. "I think it has to do with ancient times since elemental wards have fallen out of favor. I wrote a few essays on Elemental Studies. I couldn't get any published but—

"You're here to get your work out to the public." Evune finished.

Gheeran stuck a spoon in her mouth and waved a free hand. "Yes, magical researchers and alchemy in Southern Thedas has practically halted. Every few years a large rush of demons and students being possessed eclipses anything else. I've had to do work in secret. Only Tevinter will appreciate that."

"Chew before you speak." Marcella said coolly.

Gheeran rolled her eyes and finished eating what sat in her bowl. Evune noticed then that Marcella didn't have a bowl in front of herself. He imagined that she didn't want to take off her mask and ate far earlier than the rest of them to prevent that from happening.

He raised his eyes and sniffed the air. The smell of iron and sharpening swords wafted in the air. The footmen had been sharpening their blades before they woke for breakfast. The cloying scents of iron and sword oil were ultimately covered up with the smell of the fresh fish in their bowls. There were three more guards pacing the camp than yesterday.

"Why the mask?"

Marcella blinked. "The mask?"

He motioned his whole face, pretending to cover everything but his eyes. Marcella sighed heavily.

"I was educated in an elementary and advanced education in Orlais. I took my collegiate courses in the Imperium and worked with the Black Divine as an apprentice for two years."

Evune hummed in acknowledgment. "I'm sure that's all important but that's not what I asked."

Marcella leaned forward with her hands displayed on the table, you could see her nails a sharp curve. "I was raised for this very position. This is all you need to know."

"This position. . . I'm guessing is something everyone knows about." Evune questioned. Marcella and Gheeran shared a look while the others ignored his question as if it wasn't even spoken.

"How did you get the deserter to find you?" Marcella said, almost prodding.

Gheeran added, "Dumb luck from I've heard."

"Yes, that's what it was." Evune said, he mixed his gruel but it had thickened as it sat. It was no longer edible. Why was he not surprised? "Dumb luck."

"Please," Marcella pulled her hands from the table and frowned. "I know the Templars had planned a trap. The only thing I'm interested in is how a rage demon was able to spot you so quickly. It's almost like it was waiting for you."

Evune pursed his lips. He didn't know what she was trying to say but he had also never studied or knew much of anything at all when it came to magic. Elfroot paste and Deathroot poison didn't count.

"I thought you were hiding some magical abilities or that they were right about you trying to save your people, but that's not it." Marcella said with confidence in every word. Her voice light and sharp. "You must be festering a lot of rage and anger to attract a demon, especially without magic. You think the Archon doesn't know that."

Evune's brows furrowed. "My people are the only reason I'm here at all."

A smiled placed itself on Marcella's face and interlocked her fingers above the tabletop. "Power is an alluring delicacy. And we're all here for the same reason." Marcella said almost as if this very understanding had watered the flame of distaste she had towards him. The Archon's words whispered in his ear and Evune seethed.

Gheeran whispered to him, "They say you killed the blood mage in revenge for your clan. I mean, we understand but to challenge the Archon." She shook her head.

"I wouldn't endanger my clan." Evune's hands clenched tightly to his leg.

"You're only human, well, elf, but still." Gheeran said and she shrugged her shoulders. "No one would do all this for a handful of villagers."

Yasu pushed away from the table and Evune jumped up after him. They didn't get much more than a few feet away before Yasu stopped and turned around with a raised brow.

"You don't believe all that." Evune slowly said. He shifted from one foot to the next. "You'er just about the most normal person here. If you think-

Yasu asked. "How did you kill a demon?"

"I didn't." Evune lied. He clasped his hands together and nodded. "I only-

Yasu lashed out. "Stop lying!" Evune clamped his mouth shut. Yasu lowered his voice and continued to speak. "You don't understand what it's like to not have the option to say, 'No'. You don't know what it's like to be punished for being yourself and here you walk around making promises, saying things that don't make sense. If you wanted vengeance, if you were angry, we would understand. But lying about it?" Yasu shook his head. He turned around and walked away.

Evune watched the back of his head disappear up the camp towards the tents. He was starting to wonder if there really was something wrong with him. Maybe normal people didn't do the things he did. Maybe they didn't promise to help people and stick to it. Evune wanted to know if that was what his birthright was. To stick it out until the end, which could very well be his death. Why didn't it sound so crazy to him?

He walked back to the dinner table and motioned to slide into the benches when, "Evunial of the Nazari."

The table hushed. A woman in deep red robes and thin glasses stood in front of them. Her hair was a deep umber brown tied into a large bun as if she needed free space on her shoulders for the heavy bag of scrolls she carried. There was even an additional scroll in her hand. Her long, thin arms and long neck gave her the appearance of someone who was more aristocratic, more _important_.

He stood away from the table. "That would be me."

"Follow me" The woman turned around. Up a hill and through the thick of trees, the spot was well-hidden for how large it was. She led him to a large tent a distance away from the main camp. He thought it was a tent for the footmen soldiers since it was larger than Davan's.

The inside of the tent was much like an actual room in an actual building missing the stone walls. There was carpet on the floor, different patterns of wallpaper on the tent lining, and decorations on the ceiling. There was a small bookcase, an eating table, fruits and bread atop it, a cut-off where a bedroom laid, and a seating area directly to the right of the entrance.

She pointed to the lush seating area where the chairs were padded, and the glass table was crystalline. Nothing in her tent seemed less than extravagant. There was even a small ball of light floating above them, following them as they walked. She took one of the chairs, dropping her scrolls to the ground in a loud thump, while Evune took the opposing chair. She straightened the extra scroll still in her hand on the table. An ink well and quill already sat on the table half-used. She dabbed the tip of the quill on her tongue and then began to write.

The scritch-scratching of the quill on the scroll was a strange sound and she wrote very quickly so that it sounded like a light zipping. But, the longer she wrote the more it released a sense of trepidation within him.

Why was he here? Was he being punished?

Finally, she put the quill down.

"I asked you here, because Davan trusts you. He thinks," the woman paused as if thinking of a better word or phrase for the word she had originally planned on saying. Evune was sure the word was a reference or even a designation to refer to his elf-like status. He's surprised by her use of the pause at all. She continued, "He thinks you deserve to know about the Hand of Thoth and why we're actually here."

Evune rubbed a jittery hand along his throat. This was starting to sound more and more dangerous.

The woman sighed. She rolled up the scroll and then pulled out from her robe pockets a scroll circlet. She put it on the table and slid it to Evune's side of the table. "The Hand of Thoth is an elven artifact from thousands of years ago. Most of the Imperium forgets that a third of our magic, culture, and tradition comes directly from the ancient elves."

Evune added, "You can get to the parts that I don't already know."

The woman stared at him until Evune shifted uncomfortably. "I am Magister Nanterius the Praetor of Vyrantium, usually, but, presently, of Seheron and I represent the Magisterium in regards to this search. My job, if you will, is to make sure our resources are efficiently used when retrieving the artifact."

"The magisterium is a hundred of people like you then." Evune said. He didn't like this at all. The politics of dealing with multiple Fog Warrior clans was something his father excelled at but he was never any good. Tevinter politics was likely just as bloody and stupid but with cakes or fish wheat gruel. "Political people."

Magister Nanterius grimly replied, "We had believed the Hand of Thoth whereabouts was in a journal we found a few decades ago but with our ongoing war with the Qunari it was impossible to push an expedition effort until now. Unfortunately, we have found out with the help of Arnarel's clan that this journal only tells us where to find the map that carries the actual location."

"I don't see where I come in." Evune said, "I'm only here to finish the trials."

"This is beyond clue finding." Magister Nanterius stood up. She straightened her collar and her sleeves. "Knight-Captain Davan saw your personal writings and noted that it was in the same language as this journal." She walked over behind one of the dividers and came back with a slim book with leather coverings and golden symbols on the cover. "You can read elvish. This is something not even Arnarel can help us with and his brother can no longer."

Evune closed his eyes and pressed his hands against his face. He would be having another conversation with Davan. Soon. "Fine, but I want my villagers taken out of the prison and into a more comfortable holding. I want them to be taken care of while I'm doing this."

"Of course." She nodded and placed the book beside the scroll. "This scroll carries the signatures of the Archon, me, and the Knight-Captain with the seal of the Imperium's approval. It will get you into any Tevinter-led settlements easier and with more _respect_

"You knew I was going to accept."

"I knew you weren't stupid." Nanterius frowned. She sat back down in her chair and began to pull out her bag of scrolls. "In the meantime, the Knight-Captain will announce the next trial."

Evune knocked the chair back as he stood up, it skidded on the thin wood flooring. "This isn't a part of the trials."

"No." The magister raised her eyes to meet his. "But, I wouldn't suggest failing the trials. The Archon and his wife don't take failure well."

Evune clenched his hands to his side.

He was going to have a harsh conversation with Davan.


End file.
